


Treasure in Clay Vessels

by zephfair



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: AU within the show's Florence, Adult Content, Deviates From Canon, Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephfair/pseuds/zephfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pope Sixtus is so concerned with taking over Florence that he sends two spies to infiltrate the Medici family, but the new war engineer will only choose to get close to one of them. Girolamo must forget he is a Riario to play his role, but temptations threaten to steal him away for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was completely inspired by a post on the now-defunct naughtyriarioconfessions Tumblr. It said: “Sometimes I imagine Riario turned spy instead of Lucrezia, maybe under Florentine influence da Vinci would have turned him away from Rome (and of course towards Leo’s bed)”
> 
> I hope the original prompter won’t mind I took some liberties and changed the prompt a bit.
> 
> A humongous THANK YOU to [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for being amazing. Thank you for letting me pester you and dump this story outline on you months ago. Thank you for all the encouragement and especially for the things you sorted out and fixed to make sense for me. And then, you did me the ultimate favor and edited this mess—thank you! You are a terrific editor and only made things better everywhere you touched. You are fabulous, and I truly appreciate all your help. Go check out her [Tumblr](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) because it's awesome!

Girolamo nearly fell forward into his abacus when the heavy hand landed on his shoulder and the loud voice boomed in his ear, “Now I've caught you.”

Although he knew what the fool meant—he hoped—the shock of it set his heart to skip a beat then his pulse race. He gently lay down his pen and pushed his books away on the table. He set his face in the rigid smile he'd felt forced to adopt forever and looked up at the face of the noble Giuliano de Medici. “Yes, well, it was assuredly difficult to find me when I am, in fact, hard at work in your bank, as my position dictates, Signore Medici.”

“Instead of leaving these old men to their work while you could enjoy the beauties of such a lovely spring evening?” Giuliano replied as he sat on the desk, Girolamo narrowly saving important documents from crinkling under the Medici's expensively clad thigh.

He gave the quiet chuckle Giuliano would expect. “Alas, some of us must continue to work for our livelihood and not carouse like others, my lord.”

Giuliano threw his head back and laughed, several of the other bank minions looking up in disapproval but no one daring to shush him. “Then it's good for you that you have a friend such as I to make sure you are not wasting away in here, drying up until there is nothing but a brittle husk left like—” he continued with a gesture to the rest of the room whose glares were now darker than ever.

“Perhaps,” Girolamo answered in that low tone that attempted to lower another's voice that is causing embarrassment, “we might continue this conversation elsewhere. I am nearly done with my figures for the day.”

“You are done now!” Giuliano proclaimed, smacking his hand onto the table and making Girolamo even more relieved he'd moved his more delicate bookkeeping equipment. 

“Very well, sir, if my lord requires it.”

Girolamo bowed his head as Giuliano clapped his shoulder again at the display of mock piety. “I do require and demand you accompany me in enjoying the undiscovered wonders and delights that Florence has to offer. All these nights I have invited you to find sport in my company and you have declined for the last time. You have not had the opportunity to revel in Florence's finest.”

 _'Florence's fornication,'_ Girolamo thought to himself as the ideas of the types of perversity that the city surely had to offer tried to slip into his mind. He had steadfastly declined all invitations from the younger Medici to revel in the sins of the flesh, but knew he would have to give in eventually to keep Giuliano from growing suspicious of his lifestyle. The thoughts flowed through his mind in less than an instant and he held back a tired sigh.

“Then I suppose I cannot refuse.”

“That you cannot. If don't start obeying me, I may have to speak sternly to your employer.” Giuliano's laugh followed him as he hurried to clear up his ledger and turn in his work to the overseer who simply voiced his sigh and waved Girolamo away.

He tried to follow a step or two behind the Medici but Giuliano slung an arm around his shoulders and hoisted him along until Girolamo was forced to walk with his normal bearing, although remembering at the last moment to temper his brisk posture with the hunched shoulders of a scribe. It would not do to parade through the halls of the world's largest house of usury as if he were still wearing a sword rather than wielding a pen for this battle.

“Have you even explored past the market since you came to us from Turin last autumn? There is surely nothing there as fine as the beauties of our republic. I will show them to you and more,” Giuliano was promising. Girolamo curled his lips into a brief smile that felt more like a grimace. “Along with several bottles of wine and a night of carousing that we will unfortunately have forgotten by morning.”

Girolamo kept his sigh to himself, as he always did, as he was alternately pulled and cajoled through the streets of Florence toward one of the hovels Giuliano had taken to frequenting. But he stopped at the door to the questionable place he was being led to, mounting one last protest.

“My lord, surely this … establishment is not one worthy of your attentions,” Girolamo attempted but was pushed inside.

“How many times must I command you to call me by name and not by title when we are not in the bank? I don't call you Esposito because you informed me frequently enough that you don't care for that.”

Girolamo could scarcely hide his wince which was still better than not reacting at all to the assumed surname. He hoped that if Giuliano did notice his expression, he would attribute it to the shame of his false history. The name Esposito given to orphans or foundlings left to the auspices of a convent or monastery was not Girolamo's own, although he'd mused it was close enough to the truth to give him a true twinge of pain.

Fortunately for him, the Medici whelp proved as dense as ever. He was already making himself comfortable at a table at this _Barking Dog_ that Girolamo was loathe to even enter. The evening proved him right about the Medici and his love of all things extravagant. He ordered the “best” wine and refreshments the place could offer, he laughed loudly and joked coarsely, pounding back the cups as quickly as they were refilled.

Girolamo listened closely to whom he spoke, making mental notes if anything sounded interesting, but for the most part, it was trivial talk between men who had too much enjoyment in gambling and entertainments that Girolamo did not share. He put faces to names as the tavern filled, having no problem identifying men as Giuliano appeared to know anyone of seedy aspect in the entire republic. Girolamo looked forward to finding the keys that would make each one susceptible to pressure from other, outside forces.

A loud female squeal caught his attention from the browning fruit he had been listlessly toying with. Both he and Giuliano turned to see a flash of long red gold surround a man seated at a table across the room from them. A blond boy was laughing alongside a darkly bearded man Girolamo immediately branded a wastrel. The curtain of shining hair parted to reveal the soft rounded cheeks of a beautiful young girl leaning over another laughing man and showering his face with kisses.

“Thank you, Leo!” she said again then rose from his lap with a graceful leap and ran off to merrily hug the woman who seemed to act as proprietor of the tavern. Girolamo couldn't hear the rest of the conversation over the renewed buzz of noise from the room, but it didn't matter when he met the eyes of the other man at the table.

Girolamo had been weighed and measured by many important men, rulers, even the holder of the keys of the kingdom of heaven, but he had never felt the force of such a stare, so intense as the man evaluated him. The fingers of one hand twitched as they held a chunk of the bread the group shared, while the other hand moved fitfully over the pages of an open notebook. 

The girl appeared to be forgotten as the man focused his bright eyes on Girolamo. He made himself look away, carefully peeling his fingers off the knife he had been using to pare a wrinkled apple. He took a sip of truly atrocious wine and resisted the urge to look up again although he could feel the heat of the other man's stare and made it a point to gaze at another darkened corner of the room. Then he gave away his restiveness by jolting when Giuliano slapped his shoulder and sighed.

“Look at that beauty. What I wouldn't give for one night between those perfect thighs.”

Girolamo stared at him and the lovelorn look on his face then followed his gaze before he could stop himself, strangely disappointed that the Medici would have such outstanding taste in men when his taste in everything else ran to the tawdry and gaudy rather than fine quality.

Then he realized Giuliano was sighing over the young woman, who was truly was an innocent bright spot in an otherwise refuse-filled tavern, and he bit his tongue on an acidic comment. The girl was laughing, smiling gaily as she now served fresh drinks to her friends at the table, her glistening hair hanging like a cloud over the man who still stared at Girolamo. When their eyes met again, Girolamo was treated to a smile that crinkled the man's eyes a bit, and he knew it was a smile for him alone.

It took a long moment for Girolamo to clear his throat and wrench his gaze away. “Yes, well. I would have thought you could have your pick of any maid in Florence, even those of … dubious virtue,” he finally answered Giuliano, who didn't seem to notice the pause.

“Ah, but it is all the more fun when the maid plays hard to get, and perhaps there is none more hard to attain than one affiliated with the artista. He is nothing but a headache,” Giuliano said.

“The artista? Who is he?”

But Giuliano was already distracted, holding up his cup with a winning smile and beckoning for the apparently newest server of the tavern to come and refill his drink under the watchful eye of the matron. He managed to sneak a word with her before she spun off to another table.

Girolamo kept his eyes off the man across the room, tried to shake that feeling of a hot gaze upon him in return, and waited until Giuliano's drunken mind came back around. He was mumbling something about women—the pleasures of their breasts or thighs or something Girolamo didn't pay attention to until he muttered “artista” again.

“Who is this artisan you apparently despise?” Girolamo kept his tone of voice intentionally light and was rewarded by Giuliano's answer.

“An artist who is full of big claims and short of actual art,” he said. “One, I believe, that I am supposed to meet with tomorrow about the Easter Columbina. My brother and Becchi grow worried that he will not produce anything in time for the celebration.”

“Hmm,” was all Girolamo said, but it was enough to make Giuliano brighten.

“I know! Perhaps you can go with me tomorrow to the artists' quarter. Having a fellow along may soften the blow when he reneges on our deal. Or you can hold him down if our disagreement comes to blows. And then we can come back here for drinks! I wonder how often that new serving wench will be here.”

“Yes, quite,” Girolamo blew out his breath of frustration into the wine but Giuliano wouldn't have noticed even if he hadn't been talking again about the girl. It seemed he was being coerced into one of the Medici's inane schemes that never quite worked out the way Giuliano had planned. Although Giuliano had taken to him in a friendly way Girolamo honestly hadn't expected, he didn't look forward to spending time with the man. It seemed Giuliano was starved for companionship beyond what his brother—who was busy beyond belief with his ruling, banking business, family and mistress—and the other nobility provided. It had given Girolamo a way in to gain information from Giuliano even though most of what he'd learned was only about the debaucheries that Florence was already famous for.

Once Giuliano was well into his cups and joined by several other men Girolamo had no interest in, he quietly slipped away from the table. In the dark of the street, surrounded by other fetid odors, it was still fresher than the sordid tavern, and Girolamo drew several deep breaths. When the door opened, he stepped quickly away, hand reaching automatically for the dagger at his side, as he melted into the shadows. It was only the boy he'd seen with the remarkable man—the nimbus of his blond hair glowing like a halo of a saint on an icon from the tavern lights behind him. Girolamo relaxed his stance but kept his hand on the hilt as the boy looked up and down the street then uttered an oath at the emptiness.

“Such coarse language is a sign of poor education,” Girolamo said in a low voice, the one he had used to warn off attackers or to occasionally spur them on. Its effect on the boy was much the same—he jumped as the voice seemed to come out of the darkness—and Girolamo was reassured the boy was not a common footpad. 

“There you are,” the boy said, and Girolamo tensed again as he turned to face him. “I didn't see you lurking in the— please put that away!” Girolamo didn't sheathe the dagger but let the light reflect off it again as the boy continued in a hurry. “I was only supposed to deliver... the maestro asked me to give you this!”

He held out a tiny roll of paper tied with a cord. Girolamo looked at it with suspicion that didn't wane as boy pressed it forward. “It's for you,” he said inanely. 

“Do you also fetch and roll over if your maestro commands it?” 

The boy shot him a look that proved he wasn't as meek or frightened as he first appeared. “Will you take it?”

Girolamo finally held out his hand and allowed the boy to drop the paper onto it. He turned and hurried inside, slamming the door shut, before Girolamo could say anything else. He felt his heart beat harder as he stared at the tiny tube of paper, fears building and anxiety mounting as he wondered if he'd been found out. He wouldn't admit his hands shook slightly as he sliced the cord with his dagger and carefully unrolled the page from a notebook. There, in the light spilling out of a grimy window of the tavern, he got his first look at the artista's work. 

It was a sketch of him, his face turned down slightly and to the side, and he recognized the expression was the exact moment when Giuliano had told him the story about Becchi and the geese. It was the first truly funny thing Giuliano had told him, of a ridiculous childhood exploit, and Girolamo had been torn between his polite, fake laugh and a real smile of amusement. The sketch caught him in the moment he'd hidden from Giuliano, when his lips had quirked up and his cheeks creased in a true laugh.

He realized the paper was shaking because his hands were, and he turned the page over and around, looking for some sort of hidden or secret message. There was nothing. Nothing but a terribly life-like, dreadfully well-drawn portrait of himself.

Girolamo crumpled the paper in his fist and thrust it into his tunic. He couldn't afford to be late to his appointment.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He slipped through the side door of the stable noiselessly, nothing to disturb the rustle of straw from the occasional movement of a horse or a swish of a tail against a stall door. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light so he had no trouble finding the empty stall strewn with old, worn tack where he knelt to open a wooden box hidden beneath years' worth of detritus. 

He was placing his notes inside it when a creak and whisper of air warned him. He drew his dagger and moved toward the door in one smooth motion, poised to strike. It was the scent that warned him to stay his dagger thrust, instead grabbing a thin arm in one hand, pulling the body toward him, off balance, then pushing it back into the tack room where it bounced against the wall. He held the body there with his own weight.

“You. Let me go,” her voice hissed with real venom but she didn't scream.

“Why cousin, I am surprised to see you here. I didn't think we were to meet until next week.” Girolamo didn't let go of her, knowing all too well what she was capable of if he gave her freedom to move.

“We aren't to risk meeting, but my last orders were to come here and warn you that your recent reports haven't been as helpful as expected. I am to go to Rome after Easter as soon as I can slip away. They are expecting bigger news by then.” Lucrezia was still breathing hard, and Girolamo could feel her body struggling for breath as he pressed her against the wall. He leaned back slightly but stayed close so their hushed conversation wouldn't cause the horses to be disturbed.

“You are meeting my brother there?” Girolamo's pulse quickened.

“I am meeting the bastard who is forcing me to continue this despicable charade,” she spit out. “It is to your shame that Pietro Riario is your worthless brother.”

Girolamo had a hand around her throat almost before he realized it. In the ambient light, Lucrezia's eyes were staring into his even though he had twisted her head uncomfortably. He saw no fear in her at all. “Do not speak of my brother that way,” he said, then released her completely and stepped back.

Lucrezia made a point of straightening her dress and adjusting her cloak before turning to him again. “What should I report when I travel to Rome? He will want to know what you've learned about the state of the Medici bank and its dealings.”

“I know that. I have as much information as I could get copied here, and I will copy more as soon as the correspondence arrives from Spain. Tell him I've become better acquainted with the lesser Medici, and I'm learning more intimate details about the nobles of Florence. It will all be worthwhile.”

“I don't know why you can't tell him yourself. You've been here for months and haven't gone to Rome once. You don't risk yourself while I put my life in the balance every time I lie about visiting my aunt in Sienna.”

“Perhaps my brother did not feel it necessary to share his plans with you,” he told her. When she opened her mouth to argue, he deigned to explain. “Since I have ingratiated myself into the Medici bank and built up a reputation for my work, I cannot invent excuses to ride away for days at a time. You, however, are in a position where you may not be missed as quickly.”

Lucrezia's fury was obvious in her expression, even in the darkness, and Girolamo tried not to smile. He allowed, “You do make an adequate messenger to take my reports back to the captain-general and, in turn, the Holy Father.”

Lucrezia said a word that made Girolamo lunge to get his hands back around her throat, but she scrambled to the side and threatened, “If you lay a hand on me again, I'll scream.”

It was a real threat if she awakened someone and they started asking questions about why a lowly banking clerk was alone in the dark stable with il Magnifico's mistress. Girolamo stopped a step away from her.

“I cannot understand you,” she said in the bitterest voice he'd ever heard from her. “Here we are, serving as spies for men who want to destroy everything, and I cannot understand why you are doing it. You have every reason to be ruling in Rome along with your hypocritical family, yet you allow them to send _you_ to the enemy? And you seem to enjoy it?”

“Make no mistake, _cousin_ ,” he purposely emphasized the familial term, “I do not _enjoy_ it. I am sent where I can do the most good and help the Holy Father's vision for this country, in fact, the entire world, come to pass. That is why I am here.”

Lucrezia shook her head. “Your brother would kill me as easily as they killed my sister. When I am no longer of use for them, they will end my life. Remember that, when you think you are so indispensable to them.”

“I am doing work of great importance,” Girolamo repeated.

“Then have something of value ready for me to take to Rome. Meet me here the night after Easter or I may be forced to inform Riario that you are not fulfilling your duties.” With a facetious bow to him, she left the stall and he let her go, his mind racing with doubts.

Ever since the day the Holy Father took him from the monastery where he'd been raised, Girolamo had striven to please his father in any way possible. It had been his childhood dream come true to finally know one of his parents and find out he had not been a true Esposito or foundling.

But, he had greatly failed his father when he was unable to fulfill orders and kill that woman in Rome. Although the lewd smile on her face and her wicked words condemned her, Girolamo couldn't put his hands on her and end her life. He was never able to be honest with himself, could never decide whether it was because she was a woman or whether it was simply because it would have been his first taking of a human life. Either way, he couldn't make himself kill her.

In that moment, he faced his worst fear—not becoming a murderer—but rather, failing his father. He had turned his back on her and run, the woman shocked to silence. He never found out what became of her.

He had run back to the Holy Father and faced his punishment which had been unusually fierce, even by Sixtus' standards, but to Girolamo, the words of disappointment and scorn lashed at him more painfully than the strap. The pope had then delivered an even more violent blow by producing another illegitimate son, “nephew” Pietro Riario, whom he invested as captain-general and sword of the church and introduced to Girolamo as his half-brother.

Sixtus also told Girolamo a failure could not be the public face of the church, but he could use Girolamo in another role, so long as he didn't fail him again.

The monks who raised him had recognized Girolamo's keen mind and encouraged him to study and develop skills. When he arrived at the Medici bank with a glowing letter from a papal conspirator in Turin to establish his identity, he easily passed the examinations the bank prepared. There was the risk that Lorenzo would think him a spy, but when he was trusted with information and nothing of value went missing, Girolamo passed the cursory inspections. It also helped when Pietro passed along information that Francesco Sassetti of the bank was making a private allegiance with the Duke of Urbino. Girolamo thought he might have to do some creative accounting of his own to place blame, but was pleasantly surprised to find he didn't have to. Sassetti was already embezzling large amounts, and all it took was a private word aside to Giuliano...

He was the one Girolamo targeted. He knew Lorenzo trusted few people—for good reason—and Lucrezia had that angle covered, he thought with a smirk. He trained with Giuliano, got himself invited hunting a few times, and made sure to let him win at least half the time when they attempted any kind of contest. Girolamo tried to draw the line at visiting the kinds of places where Giuliano went carousing for wine and women, but he did need to discover more about the rest of the Florentine nobles and how to win them to Rome's side.

Sixtus wanted the Medici bank to erase the papal debts, and he was willing to join forces with the Pazzis so they could rule Florence while Sixtus wielded the holy power. Although Girolamo knew his half-brother would in actuality rule the republic, he'd been assured an estate of his own and even a title.

But finally earning his father's approval would be worth more than all the titles in Italy. He only needed to find a source for information that could bring Florence to its knees and raise Rome to its rightful place. And he didn't have much time to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from an episode one statement made by Riario about why he used Lucrezia as his agent. He tells the Vatican conspirators, “When one seeks to convey a message, I prefer to use vessels others would readily dismiss.” What if the pope had a similar idea?
> 
> From my brief research into the papal history, there were other Riarios who may or may not have been the pope’s sons or nephews, so I stole one for this story. Pietro, who historically died several years before the Pazzi conspiracy in Florence, is now the count and captain general of the Vatican. I hope his ancestors don’t mind. And if they do, I humbly apologize.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) for doing a brilliant job editing this. Thank you for all your time! You are fabulous!

Girolamo performed his usual, competent work at the bank the next morning, pushing away any thoughts of his espionage or his failing the family honor. He was so hard at work that he failed to remember Giuliano's threat from the night before. It was a surprise when Giuliano sat heavily on his desk earlier than was usual even for the Medici who never seemed to put in a day's work. Girolamo was rather more surprised that he didn't look any worse for the wear from the night before, either.

Becchi excused Girolamo from his work and left the bank with some final instructions to the rest of the clerks. Girolamo was forced to join him, Giuliano and two armed guards on the walk to the artists' section of the city.

“Really, my lord, I don't see how I can be of any use whatsoever—”

“And I told you that I may need reinforcements when it comes to persuading this horse's ass to actually produce some kind of Columbina before Easter, especially given the price—”

“The exorbitant price,” Becchi added.

“The exorbitant price he's charging us,” Giuliano agreed. “We've heard rumors that he was fond of grand promises but then very short on actually producing any work.” He smiled brightly. “And if he proves to be a rogue, you can hold him while I beat out my frustrations on his worthless hide. It might be a productive afternoon in any case!”

There wasn't anything else Girolamo could say as he followed the men into the artists' commune. It was much as he imagined it, strewn with the filthy supplies of their trade, peopled with naked men and women acting as models, and even a few pieces of what might someday be considered art. Although Girolamo had always believed many of Florence's perversions were the result of its flourishing so-called art, he hadn't seen the depraved evidence with his own eyes. The thought that someday these wanton degradations would grace the homes of the wealthy of the republic, lining their own palaces with graven images, made him angry. 

It didn't help that he was not looking forward to officially meeting the man who had given him, unbidden, that remarkable little portrait. He had thought long about that sketch and the motives behind it, and had ended up with a sleepless night and no answers. He did not know why the man would sketch him then have an underling deliver it. Did he want money? Was he looking for patronage? Did he enjoy the implied threat that came from capturing another's likeness on paper? Girolamo thought he felt vaguely violated. 

It was almost a relief when the maestro Verrocchio insisted the artista was not there, and he could not give them the plans for the Columbina. While Becchi looked rather relieved there was apparently some work going on to be seen, Giuliano seemed to delight in arguing with the man, even grabbing him at one point to nearly pull him over a table.

Giuliano's temper really flared when Verrocchio told him the chest that held the plans was rigged to explode if anyone tampered with it.

“Are you mad?” Giuliano bellowed. “Why would anyone engineer such an infernal contrivance?!”

“To protect my ideas, obviously,” the artista said breezily as he finally entered the studios, blond boy a smiling shadow at his back.

There was almost a physical rush that swept through the entire room when the artista made his sudden appearance. His eyes flicked over Girolamo quickly then he went straight to the chest as Verrocchio in a loud voice introduced him as Leonardo da Vinci.

“I've heard of you,” Becchi was saying. “They say you're quite the free thinker.”

This Leonardo was picking up grapes, shoving several in his mouth and offering one to Verrocchio. Girolamo watched his antics with thinly veiled amusement as the artista flexed his hands, circled around the group while talking about the typical annual Easter festival, even jumped up on a crate with restless energy as he mimicked fireworks. He stepped off it to offer a grape to Girolamo who declined with a gesture, knowing Leonardo was only trying to antagonize the group of officials and build suspense.

He finally pulled on gloves then made to open the chest with a flourish of fingers and a quick, false movement that made Giuliano jump back, fearing an explosion. As the gathered crowd laughed at the Medici's expense, Leonardo took out the quarter scale model of the dove and cradled it.

“It is a thing of beauty,” Becchi admitted.

“There are many things of beauty in the world,” Leonardo said and nodded towards Girolamo. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

Girolamo looked up from the model of the dove, not quite meeting the other man's eyes, and said shortly, “No.”

“It's a pleasure that's been too long denied. I'm Leonardo.” 

“And I am not interested in art,” Girolamo said, finally making eye contact, expecting to make a hit with the blatant insult.

Instead, Leonardo's eye closed in a wink. “There are other things just as worthwhile to take an interest in.”

“I don't believe we share any interests, Artista.”

Leonardo shrugged but continued to gaze brazenly at him. “There are always opportunities to discover new interests and talents, Signore...?”

“Girolamo's interests are really none of your business,” Giuliano cut in, much to Girolamo's relief, though he never would have admitted it. “We are here to see your much bragged about bird, and we would like to see where all our money has gone.”

“Then allow me to give you a demonstration that may change your mind.”

When the bird took to wing, Girolamo was sure his mouth dropped open in astonishment, but like everyone else watching, he didn't care. It was amazing to see an inanimate object, something man-made, take flight. It dipped and soared, the artista following underneath, whopping and yelling like a young boy, pure joy lighting up his face.

Seeing the excitement flush Leonardo's face as he caught the bird to great applause, something clutched at Girolamo's chest. He thought it must be the grip of sin and greed that surrounded him, the horrors of the vices that filled Florence. This was the real sin—thinking they could eclipse God or at least make themselves equal to Him by building things not intended for this world. It was like a modern day Babel.

The disquieting thoughts must have showed on his face because Leonardo was quick to explain that the dove was only a _prototype_ and for thirty florins, he could build a larger one still without guide wires—

Becchi was the first voice of reason to argue while Giuliano chimed in loudly, throwing curses at the artista's wild claims and demands for more money. 

“You are nothing but a feckless cheat,” Becchi said.

“And a whoreson,” Giuliano finished succinctly.

Girolamo continued to stare at the mechanical bird nestled gently in Leonardo's hands until he heard the artista say, “Perhaps I should be negotiating with your brother instead.”

Giuliano reached a hand for his sword, and Leonardo paused before continuing, “I have some other designs I believe could be greatly beneficial to the continued peace and prosperity of the republic. Especially considering the ever-expanding threat presented by the pope and his growing forces in Rome.”

“That is none of your concern,” Becchi raised his voice. “The Medici family have long served and protected Florence and will continue—”

“Everyone knows Pope Sixtus has designs on our fair land, and while Lorenzo the Magnificent has many fine attributes and contributions to the arts, there are military designs that I would like to discuss with him that could be of supreme interest.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Giuliano said, taking a step closer to Leonardo and dropping his hand to his sword hilt for the second time. “For God's sake, Becchi, just pay the degenerate and be done with it.”

“You win, Artista,” Becchi ground out and reached for a concealed money pouch.

Girolamo looked on, mind whirling with the implications of that conversation, while the transaction took place. It seemed Leonardo couldn't help but have the last word: “if you wanted to sweeten the deal, you could leave your friend here. I always can find use for a helping hand and extra manpower.” 

Girolamo's wide-eyed look must have been the reaction Leonardo wanted because he laughed loudly, and the Medici growled, hastening them away. 

“Of all the impertinence! How dare he try to corrupt you with his dissolute tendencies. Oh yes, that is another well-spread rumor of our artista back there. The word is his debauchery includes sodomy,” Giuliano informed him.

“It is fine. My virtue is still intact,” Girolamo said in his usual wry voice. It seemed to lighten the mood because Giuliano clapped his hand onto his shoulder.

“Come and let us celebrate the fact that we will have, at least, some sort of ceremonial dove for the Easter spectacle.”

Becchi, who had been muttering to himself about whirligigs and parlor tricks, said, “You won't be celebrating when you go to your brother and tell him you authorized thirty florins instead of twelve.”

“Then come, let me fortify my resolve and have a drink before I face his magnificent wrath.”

Girolamo agreed for once. He thought he could certainly use a drink as well as he gave serious thought to his next move.

It was very odd, he mused over the next days, how once one became acquainted with a person, suddenly one noticed that person everywhere, for the first time. Giuliano and Becchi were heard complaining loudly about Leonardo. Piero, the notary who frequently assisted Lorenzo with bank documents, turned out to be his _father_. He even spotted Leonardo and the blond boy across the market one afternoon, but Girolamo carefully slid out of the way before he could be seen in return. 

It had soothed his paranoia to realize that the man was not suspicious of him as a spy but rather, in what would pass in a normal society apparently, _flirting_ with him. Girolamo knew that sodomy was one of the multitude of sins that Florence neither officially condemned nor condoned, but he'd never been the recipient of such obvious lasciviousness. Then he saw Leonardo watching his own cousin across the market that afternoon and he figured that was simply the kind of man he was.

Unfortunately, his espionage was not going well as he was unable to uncover any more valuable information about the bank's rumored cash flow problems. The correspondence from Spain was greatly delayed, and Lorenzo looked more worried by the day until he took to spending more afternoons away from the bank and, presumably, in Lucrezia's arms. It didn't help that Girolamo did not have anything of importance to report to Rome.

Then Giuliano took him to another tavern shortly before Easter because he said he needed a break from the strenuous labor of planning the carnival. Girolamo tuned him out as usual until he began grumbling about how his brother had commissioned Leonardo to paint a portrait of Lucrezia as the ultimate lover's gift. Even worse, Lorenzo had finally succumbed and hired Leonardo on retainer as some kind of “war engineer” for the princely sum of fifty florins.

Girolamo's ears would have perked with interest, but he just casually refilled Giuliano's cup and let the man talk. Late that night, he made his mark on a predesignated alleyway wall and continued on his way.

Lucrezia was not happy to be summoned to the stable on the night before Easter, but Girolamo didn't give her a long opportunity to complain.

“Tell me what you know of the artista Leonardo da Vinci.”

She looked at him appraisingly before answering. Girolamo often forgot how intelligent she was, for a woman, and he regretted his eager tone.

“Leonardo da Vinci was hired by Lorenzo to paint me.”

“Yes, I know that. What do you know of him? Have you started the sittings yet?”

“No, he hasn't the time. He designed the Columbina for tomorrow night's carnival, and he's doing some sort of other work for Lorenzo.”

“Then he is working as a war engineer?”

Lucrezia shrugged. “Lorenzo hasn't mentioned that to me. I only know that he's given him some kind of stipend to do other work for the Medicis.”

“And the term 'war engineer' doesn't make you wonder about whom Florence is going to declare war on?”

“They might be more worried about defending themselves. Lorenzo has cursed more than once about Riario and what he may be planning for the republic.”

“And now, he may be taking steps to counter brother or even make the first move,” Girolamo thought out loud as his mind raced with possibilities. He focused on Lucrezia again. “You must get close to this Leonardo and find out what he is planning.” 

Lucrezia laughed in a low voice. “While he seems the friendly type, I think the artist may grow suspicious of me if I question him about his other work while I'm meant to be sitting silently and looking like a proper mistress.”

“This could be of great importance. Brother will want to know if Lorenzo has some kind of offensive military scheme planned or if Leonardo has been hired to build something for a superior defense.”

“If it is of such great importance, then you should find it out yourself.”

“No one in the bank appears to know anything of substance about Lorenzo's plans for the future of the republic, and Giuliano is too engrossed in his monstrosity of a celebration to talk about anything worthwhile,” Girolamo said. “Your techniques have always worked in the past, with men who loosen their tongues in the presence of a loose woman. Perhaps you could suggest he paint you in the flesh then let him take off your gown and—”

“How dare you whore me out?” Lucrezia's voice was low and deadly calm. “It is one thing, to do what I must to protect the only family I have left, but I will not lie with another man simply because you are suspicious of him.”

“Really? That appears to be your only talent, spreading your legs and opening your ears,” Girolamo caught her hand at the last instant before it slapped his cheek then pushed her back against the wall as she struggled against him.

She spit out, “You are no better than I, sent off to do the devil's work.”

“Take care with your speech. We are both tools. Holy instruments—”

“There is nothing holy in what we do. I have my reasons for this madness, but I cannot imagine why you do this. And soon you will feel the rough edge of your brother's wrath if you don't give him something important when I report to Rome.”

Girolamo let go of her, and she stepped away out to the door before saying. “Anyway, if rumor is to be believed, it seems the artista prefers the sword to the sheath. Perhaps you might have more luck seducing him and getting the information on your back or on your knees for a change.”

Girolamo was so stunned by her coarse comment that he let her escape from the stable with only a snarl. He knew she was taunting him, taking out her anger over the hopeless situation on him, but it made him unbearably angry in return. While even a cornered mouse would show its teeth, the cat could suffer one bite before it won the ultimate victory. Girolamo would let her have that insult and pay her back in kind soon enough.

As soon as he found something of value to report to his Holy Father and brother.

\-------------**********--------------

It felt extraordinarily sinful to celebrate the day of the Lord's resurrection with a fete and celebration like Florence had planned that year. Girolamo would not have attended anything other than Mass, if Giuliano hadn't been expecting him. He had finally agreed to attend simply to make Giuliano stop asking, as if the entire city wouldn't be crowded into the streets to see the final culmination of the ancient ceremonies. It didn't mean he had to like it.

Girolamo dressed with none of the flourish most Florentines, and especially the Medici, seemed to favor. While he saw nearly every kind of costume on and off the crowds roaming the city, he added only a simple domino mask to his normal black clothing.

 _'Let them think me the spectre of death come to pass judgment upon them,'_ he thought with a smirk of satisfaction that he mastered quickly.

The piazza in front of the Duomo was as crowded as he'd feared, and the people were surging ever forward to get closer to the church. He ended up pushed nearly to the front which he suddenly didn't mind when the Easter Columbina ascended out of the church. 

Even though he'd seen the smaller sample, Girolamo was amazed all over again at the sight. It was awe-inspiring—a mechanical bird flying without wires. But even more astounding was the talent and sheer audacity of a man imagining that he could make mere metal fly as well as the Creator made birds take to wing.

It was blasphemy. It was surely sin.

It was incredible.

In the moment before the Columbina landed on the fireworks, Girolamo recognized the artista standing nearby. He was not wearing a costume, and he was not watching the dove. He was staring at Girolamo, and he was sure Leonardo knew it was he behind the mask as though he were wearing nothing at all. When the fireworks interrupted with a great explosion, Girolamo slipped away.

He was gaining speed down a street when he heard Leonardo call out. Girolamo didn't stop until Leonardo caught up and grabbed his arm. He panted for breath and smiled. “What did you think of the celebration?”

“It's rather too extravagant.”

“That's rather the point,” Leonardo said. 

“Then it succeeded.” Girolamo tried to pull away, but Leonardo continued to hold his biceps.

“And what did you think of the Columbina? Wasn't it grand?”

“Really, Artista, have you stooped so low as to fish for compliments?”

Leonardo threw back his head and laughed. Girolamo stood, transfixed by the way the man's neck arched as he laughed rather than the strong hand that gripped his arm. When Leonardo noticed his attention, he smirked. “You are right; I have no need to beg for compliments. But, I am most eager to find out what you thought of the portrait I made of you that night in the tavern.”

“It was highly impertinent. How dare you—” Girolamo's voice trailed off as Leonardo moved closer.

“I would like to sketch you properly,” he breathed against Girolamo's ear, hand flexing around his arm. “You have such a fascinating face.”

“If you are so desperately in need of models, I am sure there are more willing bodies available to you.”

“But they aren't the body I desire.” When Leonardo kissed him, Girolamo felt his mask crushed between their faces. He focused on that minute discomfort to avoid being swept away by the heat of Leonardo's mouth and the press of his lean body against his own. When he felt Leonardo try to move him around the corner and into an alleyway, Girolamo pushed him away with force. Leonardo broke the kiss and stepped back, breath echoing across Girolamo's open lips, hands sliding down his arms and then away.

“My mistake,” Leonardo's voice sounded huskier than before. “I'm sorry I tried to step in where I am not wanted.” He hesitated. “I am not wanted, then?”

Girolamo tried to school his expression into something neutral. “No, you are not.”

“It's only for a bit of fun. You look like you've never done anything simply for pleasure. And you're always hiding. I can't figure out what your enigmatic smiles mean, but I suspect there is much more to you than meets the eye.”

“I fear you are sadly mistake, Artista. I am only what I appear to be.” 

“I don't believe that. You have the look of a trapped man, one who doesn't believe he has a choice in his life. But you do. You can certainly choose to enjoy your time here, take a chance on something new. It's all within your own power.”

Girolamo didn't dignify that with a response. He offered Leonardo the half-smile that passed for politeness, then moved around him and down the street, his heart and mind racing. 

_His power_. The artista was sorely mistaken in thinking that Girolamo had any sort of power or choice in his own life. Wasn't that the very cause of original sin in the world? Man thinking he could take control of his own life and making the wrong choice, the choice to disobey? Girolamo had never had any power over his own life and future, and all of a sudden, the temptation was stronger than he'd ever known.

All this flooded through his brain in an instant, his active mind seeing down one fork of the road and its consequences and then the other.

The artista had hit the mark closer than he'd ever know. Girolamo wondered if that was how Lucrezia had felt, when she'd had to offer herself to Lorenzo. Had he ever looked at her that way, with naked passion in his eyes? How was she able to respond in the same way to a temptation and a sin?

Girolamo closed his eyes for a moment. It would be so easy to entrap Leonardo now. He would have a way to gain information, either through talking with him or even blackmail after the fact. He remembered the flash of heat and that kiss and the way his stomach always seemed to drop when he locked eyes with the artista. He wanted something for the first time in his life that was all his alone, some measure of power, some control.

He turned back and took several quick strides to Leonardo's back as he walked the opposite direction, grabbed his shoulder and spun him against the wall of a house. Leonardo braced himself to fight back, staying his blow when he saw it was Girolamo, and Girolamo pushed his body against his and fumbled the mask aside. Leonardo realized what he wanted, took his face in his hands, and kissed him.

The kiss was every bit as hot as the first one, and even better when Girolamo was fully committed. Leonardo hummed a happy moan into his mouth as his tongue searched out the artista's even as his hands moved to Leonardo's shoulders. Leonardo kept one hand on his cheek, brushing the jut of cheekbone with his thumb, as he pulled at Girolamo's waist to move their bodies even closer.

“I really do want to sketch you, sometime,” Leonardo breathed against his ear when the kiss was ended, tracing the whorl of ear with his tongue.

Girolamo couldn't contain a shiver. “Now?”

“No, I'd rather take you back to my room and ravish you.”

They stumbled into Leonardo's rooms as though he couldn't keep his hands off Girolamo, or perhaps was afraid he would run away again if he let go. Leonardo kissed him as though he was trying to memorize each detail of Girolamo's mouth, pinpoint what made him breath faster, which movement made his breath catch altogether. Leonardo quickly overwhelmed his senses until all of them blurred into one overload of pleasure.

The fireworks celebrating the end of the Easter season boomed overhead, and later, Girolamo would remember the encounter like each burst of shocking light, each unbearably bright flash of color.

The feel of Leonardo's toned, bare chest. The slim hips thrusting against his. The muscular arms bracketing his head. The long legs and clenched buttocks. The clever hands that reached for him and made him feel wrapped up in sin. Each kiss melting into another. Leonardo spreading the kisses down his body until he could feel nothing but the heat and the fire and the explosion like he'd never imagined. When he was able to touch the hardness of Leonardo, it took only moments for him to follow Girolamo into pleasure, panting and calling Girolamo's name, then biting his bare shoulder at his moment of climax.

Girolamo lay there, in the artista's bed, wide-eyed and catching his breath. Leonardo groaned and rolled off him, one hand resting possessively in the middle of Girolamo's abdomen.

“Oh, God, you're thinking already. How can you be thinking already? Did I not provide you with enough distraction?” Leonardo murmured, flinging his other arm dramatically over his own eyes.

“Forbidden fruit,” Girolamo whispered back.

“What about it?”

“That's what you are, you know.” It was ridiculous to feel almost embarrassed to meet Leonardo's eyes now, while he was still slick with the other man's sweat and worse.

“And I am delicious,” Leonardo confided in a low voice. “Would you like another taste?”

God help him, but Girolamo would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to the superb writers and directors of Starz for using some show dialogue in the artists' studio scene and the fireworks/orgasm allusion because that is too priceless. It makes me laugh every time I watch that episode, and I love it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) for all your time and help with this. I truly appreciate you! You're wonderful!
> 
> This chapter gets a warning for descriptions of physical scars and implied violence associated with them.

Girolamo huffed in amusement. Then, before he could stop himself, he began to laugh, the mirth bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him, like a dam had broken and released it—a true laugh that bordered on the hysterical. He wasn't at all sure that he was all right.

Leonardo raised himself on his elbow over him. “Was that really so bad a line?”

“Dreadful, just preposterous,” Girolamo choked out.

“But my terrible lines _did_ work on you. You are in my bed.”

“Yes, and what does that say about me?”

“That you have impeccable taste,” Leonardo confided and leaned down to kiss him. Girolamo learned it was hard to laugh when there was another mouth blocking your own, but as he ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of Leonardo's head and grabbed tightly, he found he didn't mind.

Leonardo ran his hand up and down Girolamo's chest, then lower, over his stomach, making his abdominals tighten involuntarily. When Leonardo's hand drifted lower still, to curve around the soft skin of his hip, Girolamo stopped him with a little moan.

“Too soon?” Leonardo asked from where he was kissing down his throat.

“I need the privy,” he said honestly, and Leonardo gave him a final kiss before letting him up with a gesture toward the next room. Girolamo sat up, searching for his trousers since he couldn't remember where they had ended up, then froze as Leonardo ran one of those nimble, inquisitive, blessed, cursed hands down his back.

“These scars. They would have been horrible injuries.” Leonardo brushed a kiss against one bundle of scar tissue that stretched diagonally across his left shoulder and spine.

“And they look positively horrible,” Girolamo said shortly. “Do they bother you?”

“Not at all,” Leonardo replied, demonstrating by licking up one particularly large scar that went up his right shoulder nearly to his neck. Girolamo froze again, this time as his body began to react to the unexpectedly erotic attention. As he finally stood up, dislodging Leonardo's mouth, the artista just rolled onto his back and stared up at him. “If anything, it makes you more desirable because there are hidden depths to you, stories I'm sure you've never shared with anyone else. It intrigues me.”

“Quite,” Girolamo agreed weakly. He located his trousers on the floor some distance from the bed, but Leonardo laughed as he stepped into them for the short walk. Girolamo relieved himself and took a moment to look around the darkened rooms. He'd been too preoccupied to notice most of the living space when they'd entered, but now he could see that almost all of the flat surfaces were covered in manuscripts that he couldn't read in the dim light. There were many more pages hanging around a worktable, most of the walls, even—he saw as he ambled back in—around the bed.

Leonardo was lounging on the bed, possibly the longest time that Girolamo had ever seen him still in one position. That didn't last long as he jumped up, completely unconcerned with his nakedness, and approached Girolamo, who stopped, naturally wary. Leonardo only smiled and pulled him close by his hips, kissing him lightly. “I'll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

While he also used the privy, Girolamo took the opportunity to pry with permission and began to look over all the papers decorating the walls. He ignored the sketches of his cousin and those of random Florentines as well as the red-haired girl from The Barking Dog. Instead, he picked up a notebook that looked the most well-worn and leafed through it.

“See anything you like?”

Girolamo's lips twitched as he glanced in Leonardo's direction, knowing he would be putting his nudity on display again. He wasn't disappointed. “Actually, I'm intrigued by these drawings of your infernal devices. May I see one of these marvels?”

Leonardo beckoned him back to sit on the bed then curled his bare body around Girolamo's back and hooked his chin on Girolamo's shoulder. He had to pay extra attention to the words that were being spoken since the position was very distracting. Leonardo reached around him to point out a series of drawings spread across two pages. 

“This,” Leonardo pointed, “is a device to slow the rate of descent.”

“To slow the rate of descent? From where?”

“Say you were trapped in a fortress that had been breached. You could strap yourself into this and safely float down to freedom,” Leonardo's voice sounded almost wistful as his finger trailed down the page.

“It's commendable,” Girolamo said. “How were you able to overcome the difficulty of the weight versus the ratio of the amount of cloth and frame to use?”

If Girolamo had thought Leonardo looked at him with passion in his eyes before, it was nothing compared to what shone there now. “You have a keen mind, for a banking clerk,” Leonardo murmured against his lips as he kissed him.

Girolamo pulled back and commanded, “Show me more.” Leonardo obeyed, flipping through the notebook, retrieving more from his work table, baring his secrets to Girolamo's piercing questions. He stopped short of sharing his code and secret writings on some notes, but Girolamo memorized as much as he possibly could, mind reeling with the implications of so many of Leonardo's designs.

“This one, it could be troublesome,” Girolamo said, tapping the drawing of what Leonardo referred to as a pipe organ musket. “Have you built a large-scale model to test?”

“No, not yet. It is among the first I have planned to cast and demonstrate to Lorenzo. What do you mean, it could be troublesome?”

Girolamo carefully didn't move to lean back into the heat of Leonardo, who had pulled away at the perceived slight to his invention. “How are you going to prevent leakage, the spilling of gunpowder from one row of cannons down to the next? There's the potential for a raw explosion, once the powder is hot from repeated firing.”

“That's an interesting point,” Leonardo all but tore the book from his hands, fingers flicking over the page. Girolamo could see the gears turning in his head as he thought it through. With his attention diverted, Girolamo look a moment to be amazed at the audacity of this … this sinner. This genius. He doubted his brother or the pope had anyone in their employ who could understand the plans, let alone duplicate and build them. He was stunned by the sheer magnitude of the artista's visions and the ways he was trying to make them a reality.

“You're staring,” Leonardo said, finally shutting the book and putting it carefully down onto the floor.

“I was watching you make love to your design plans.”

“Would you rather I was making love to you?” Leonardo reached for his face, pulling him close enough to dot a kiss on his forehead then his eyelids and his cheeks before reaching his open lips. Girolamo had just reached for his shoulder to steady himself when Leonardo said, “I'm rather amazed that you grasped the concepts of my designs so quickly. You have a brilliant mind.”

“It lies in the shadows of one as brilliant as yours,” Girolamo answered honestly, based on the facts he'd seen that night, but Leonardo seemed to enjoy the lavish compliment and kissed him again.

“I will take your critique under advisement,” he murmured against Girolamo's lips. “And if I succeed in my search for the Book of Leaves, perhaps I will gain enough knowledge to make an impact on the entire world and impress you truly.”

Girolamo's blood ran cold. That was something he had heard his brother and father whispering about with the keeper of the Vatican's Secret Archives. It was one of the many things they had not bothered to share with him, whether because they didn't trust him or—more likely—didn't think him worthy.

“What is that then? A compendium of arcane and occult knowledge?” he asked.

“I don't actually know,” Leonardo admitted. “It's been said that it contains the greatest knowledge in the world. But, I don't yet know where to find it or even where to search next.”

Girolamo didn't have to reply as Leonardo tumbled him down on his back on the bed. He welcomed the distraction from his thoughts as Leonardo went on talking. “I seem to remember that I was serenading you with terrible lines in a worthwhile attempt to impress you into my bed. Then you impressed me with your intellect, and we really need to get you out of these trousers.”

“I should go. I do have to be at the bank in the morning,” Girolamo said, trying to keep Leonardo's nimble fingers from unlacing him with little effort. Then Leonardo's mouth dropped to his nipples, the right first, then the left, and as his hips bucked instinctively, Leonardo stripped his trousers off.

“Do you really think the rest of the bank staff won't have taken the same opportunity of the carnival to revel and make merry? If any of them are in any condition to do figures tomorrow, well, it might actually be an improvement on their normal mental states. I won't be surprised if attendance is at an all-time low.”

Any argument Girolamo would have mustered was cut off when Leonardo shifted his hips, bringing the hard length of his cock alongside the growing length of Girolamo's. From there, time slowed down and Girolamo was properly tempted to forget his troubling thoughts.

Leonardo as a lover was much like he as an inventor—passionate, focused, all-consuming, selfish in his pursuit of a satisfactory result. Though, when Girolamo shied from penetration, Leonardo took it in stride and in hand, moving his body in ways Girolamo didn't even know he could copy, but with some help finding the rhythm, he succeeded. He stroked down the artista's back, dug his fingers into the tight buttocks then finally grasped his hardness, feeling a wave of some powerful emotion when the touch made Leonardo gasp and falter in his thrust.

When they both lay satiated, Girolamo felt his shoulders begin to relax and knew that if he did not move soon, he would fall asleep. “I must go,” he said as he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up.

“You can stay.”

“No, I must go so I can manage some rest before morning.” He continued to dress, only looking back at Leonardo once his trousers were on. To his surprise, Leonardo was not dozing, but had retrieved his notebook from the floor and was rummaging on the table beside the bed until he found a pencil.

He looked up at Girolamo's quiet chuckle. “I only want to look at the loading position of the musket. I had a thought.”

“You were able to think during that? Then surely we weren't doing something correctly.”

Leonardo arched an eyebrow at the unexpected teasing. “I had the thought _before_ , but perhaps it is a surprise I was able to retain it _during_. I believe if I...” His voice trailed off as he bent over the book. 

Girolamo's lips quirked as he dressed quickly, the glow of orgasm lasting longer than he'd thought. He remained quiet as Leonardo muttered to himself, fingers restlessly searching—for an answer? For a glimpse of the future? Girolamo didn't know. He thought he would leave silently while Leonardo was oblivious, but he focused again as Girolamo pulled on his coat.

“Thank you. This has been a most fascinating night.”

Girolamo nodded, unsure how to respond, knowing he agreed but too overwhelmed at the moment to voice his thoughts. Leonardo just accepted his silence, got up and kissed him one last time, hard and fast.

“If you like, we could do this again.”

“We'll see,” Girolamo said and escaped, hearing him go back to rustling pages as soon as he was gone. Much to his surprise, there were still some revelers in the streets, disobeying curfew for one more celebration. 

There would be no rest for him yet, either. He had to draft a report for Rome, listing the plans and designs he could remember, leave it in the prearranged spot for Lucrezia, then think long and hard about how he could learn any information about the Book of Leaves.

___________________________________________________________

Several days passed in the comfortable routine to which Girolamo had grown accustomed in Florence. He performed his work admirably, as always, and the mundane tasks gave him plenty of time to think on the more important worries that plagued him. 

His father and brother would be pleased that he had found out about Leonardo and his designs, but he should take the initiative to learn more. If he could actually copy details, draw some schematics of the more complex designs... Could he break into the studio and steal them? Go back to Leonardo under different circumstances?

He had succeeded in gaining very vital intelligence, but no one needed to learn the circumstances under which it had been obtained. As to whether he had enjoyed himself doing it... well, if forced under torture to admit it, he didn't particularly hate his work at the bank either. There was a certain satisfaction in doing an excellent job and reaping the rewards of it. But, that line of thinking led to more sinful thoughts of the satisfaction he had achieved at Leonardo's hands, and he was forced to think upon other, less pleasant things before he was able to leave his table at the bank.

He had just finished one such battle with himself when Leonardo swung into step with him as he left the bank.

“Three separated tiers of cylinders that will rotate on a drum, not stacked on top one another,” Leonardo said.

Girolamo blinked, opened his mouth to give a proper greeting, but responded, “That could very well solve the problem of the gunpowder contamination, but how many cannons can you fire simultaneously before they face critical failure?”

Leonardo's smile was bright and sly. “That is what I'm going to find out tomorrow when the first casting is complete.”

“Oh. Congratulations.”

“Would you like to attend the demonstration next week? The Medici and several of the other esteemed nobles who might be convinced eventually to part with a few florins will be attending.”

“No, I don't think that would be appropriate. I'm sure I'll hear a report if Giuliano is as keen as you think.”

Leonardo almost pouted. “If you won't come to the unveiling of my musket, would you like to come back to my rooms and help me further my other studies?”

“And what would those those studies include?”

“Anatomy.” Leonardo leaned closer and didn't touch him there in the public street, but Girolamo swore he could feel the heat of just his presence. “There are one or two biological functions I'm still unclear about and happen to be looking for a willing volunteer to undertake experimentation.”

Girolamo cleared his throat and thought of his planned response. He had tried to consider what he would say to Leonardo if he had, in fact, ever propositioned him again. So far, the encounter was not acting like anything he'd imagined and prepared for. He thought he should find out more of Leonardo's designs and plans, perhaps even sneak some notes if he could arrange it, but now in the presence of the artista, he just wanted to move closer.

Leonardo was waiting for an answer, walking along beside him in pleasant company, and somehow Girolamo found himself saying, “That could be arranged.”

The night was no less memorable than the first fevered encounter. Solving the problem with his musket seemed to free Leonardo's mind so his focus was solely on creating pleasure with Girolamo. He covered his body in kisses, stroking and caressing even his back, worshiping his body using his knowledge of human anatomy. Girolamo had never felt more relaxed or aroused, and he eagerly followed the opportunity with an exploration of Leonardo's body. 

He was strong, tight, and lean corded muscle and sinew, and Girolamo dug his fingers in tightly as he touched. When Leonardo brought out a vial of oil, Girolamo was too aroused to argue. He let Leonardo prepare him and take him, gently but firmly, his body finally opening for the invasion even as he clenched his eyes tightly closed so he could not see Leonardo's expression.

“Beautiful. Stunning. I cannot wait to draw you again, just like this,” Leonardo murmured against his lips and lavished compliments as he took him, bringing him along to climax first before he thrust and shook to completion.

Afterward, Girolamo waited for the guilt to arrive, but, as before, he felt only a sense of emptiness. He cleaned up as Leonardo set out some bread and fruit, poured wine and prepared the table. Girolamo finally accepted his invitation to stay and eat. Leonardo played distractedly with an odd-looking key, twirling it between his fingers as he praised the virtues of eating a diet without meat. Girolamo tried to turn the conversation to more of Leonardo's designs, picking several at random from the wall that all seemed to focus on means of flight. But, Leonardo was more interested in speculating what would happen when he finally demonstrated the musket, and Girolamo decided he must leave.

Leonardo pressed him gently against the wall and stroked a hand down his flank to cup a buttock, rocking their hips together. “Don't you want to stay here with me tonight and undergo further anatomical studies?”

“I rather think not.”

“Are you sore? I can do something about that.”

“I am quite sure that anything you can do about _that_ would not end with helping.”

Leonardo's smile was wicked. “You are probably right. If I cannot tempt you into another round, will you at least attend the musket demonstration? I perform best for an audience in awe and with you there, I know I would have at least one person capable of comprehending my genius.”

“You flatter me,” Girolamo said wryly, “but I am not going to attend a cannon test that could very well end in an earth-shattering explosion and giant fireball that takes out half the noble families of Florence.”

“Your positive encouragement and unbridled support warm me, truly,” Leonardo replied, dramatically placing his hand over his heart.

“Think on that when you light the fuse.”

Leonardo laughed, leaned in and kissed him thoroughly. Girolamo found he had to unclench his hands from Leonardo's shoulders before he could finally get away.

The euphoria lasted until he saw the mark that designated a message awaited him from Rome. It was hidden away, under a paving stone in the corner of an alley. The message read only, “Great interest in da Vinci and his designs. He must be brought to our side, but not by you. Do not reveal yourself. Rome will send a papal emissary as soon as possible.”

The parchment crackled as Girolamo's fist tightened. He knew what that meant—his brother would be coming to Florence. If he and the Holy Father wanted Leonardo to be converted to Rome's interests, they would stop at nothing to make that happen. They might try bribery, or persuasion, and if those failed, they would most definitely try coercion. Failing all that, if Leonardo still refused to help Rome, Riario was fully capable of assassinating him to keep his genius ideas from falling into enemy hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) for editing and encouraging!

 

Girolamo didn't see Leonardo again until the night after the demonstration. Neither Giuliano, Lorenzo or Becchi had returned to the bank, so he was left wondering for hours how things had progressed. Since there were no frenzied shouts or mobs demanding Leonardo's head, he assumed the worst had not occurred and there had been no mass slaughter of Florentine noblemen by a rogue cannon.

A knock on the door of his lodging interrupted his reading, and he cautiously slid his dagger into his hand before wondering who would disturb him at such a late hour.

“I will have you know that, whatever you may hear to the contrary, today was a rousing success,” Leonardo insisted as he pushed his way inside the room. Girolamo managed to sheathe the dagger before he noticed, curious how Leonardo knew where he lived.

“If you have to argue that vociferously, it rather indicates the opposite.”

Leonardo shook his head and stepped closer, backing Girolamo against the door. “It worked, by all that is holy, better than I ever could have imagined. The possibilities... the potential...” He looked at Girolamo through his eyelashes, boyish grin lighting up his face. “There was only one miscalculated detonation, a touch more recoil than I'd calculated, and my hearing has already sufficiently recovered.”

“Of course,” Girolamo said weakly.

“But then, I don't particularly need my hearing for what I have in mind for this evening. I already know you'll be calling out my name and at least one deity. If you need to communicate anything else, I can read your lips,” Leonardo said the last words with his lips already on Girolamo's. Then he licked into his mouth, and Girolamo forgot everything else for a long moment. 

“Not here,” he gasped as Leonardo kissed his way over to the soft place right below Girolamo's ear that he'd never known was wired directly to his cock.

“Come back to my lodgings where we can be as loud as we desire?”

Girolamo tried to make the excuse to himself that he would reconnoiter and gather more information about the musket demonstration. But, as soon as they were safely inside Leonardo's room, the only thing on his mind was hotter, faster and more, more of everything. Leonardo didn't even let him make it to the bed, trapping him against the wall with strong hands and hard hips, kissing him breathless then pulling away to meet his eyes and wink before dropping to his knees.

Girolamo would have been ashamed that the only words to cross his lips were, indeed, Leonardo's name and a few choked off entreaties to a higher power; but, he couldn't bring himself to care that Leonardo was proved right, and he came, clutching the short spikes of Leonardo's hair, barely able to keep his knees from buckling.

Leonardo bounced to his feet and kissed Girolamo again, the taste making Girolamo wrinkle his nose. Leonardo laughed and led him to the bed, shrugging off his clothes as they went. Girolamo's shirt hung half open and his unlaced trousers already threatened to slide off, so he stepped out of them to join Leonardo in his nudity.

“I needed that,” Leonardo said. “But now, I would really like to have your mouth on me.”

Girolamo was only too happy to comply, learning with a light touch and curling tongue, what could make Leonardo shout. As he brought Leonardo to the brink with his wet, hot mouth and tight hand, he had never felt more power over another human. The rush lasted even after Leonardo came, then manhandled him into some sort of arrangement of arms, legs and chests that was inexplicably comfortable.

“The test was a success—thanks to you,” Leonardo said, brushing a dark lock of hair out of Girolamo's eyes. “It will soon be the talk of Florence, and we will have the independent means to protect ourselves.”

“Protect ourselves from whom?”

“From anyone who threatens to take away our freedom.”

“And do you think that is a risk?”

Leonardo stopped petting him and looked him in the eye. “You are too intelligent and well-informed not to know about the impending danger. Pope Sixtus yearns for more money and power, and his bastard nephew will not stop until he has conquered as much of Italy as he can—by force or by financial pressure or by allowing the pope to excommunicate anyone who dares disagree with him.”

The truth stabbed like daggers in his heart, and Girolamo had to pull away and sit up. “And you would rather position yourself as their enemy, the enemy of His Holiness, the Supreme Pontiff of the Church?”

“I would rather not consider myself the enemy of anyone, except perhaps those who are attempting to harm me and those I love, take away our freedom and subjugate us.”

“Do not loyal subjects long to obey their supreme authority, that of the Lord and his vicar on this earth?”

“Can you say that the same Lord who gave His life for sinners such as we would really command his church to take over kingdoms on earth and enslave the people to fill the church's own coffers?”

“I am a faithful follower and devout to my God,” Girolamo said, rising stiffly and pulling on his clothes as quickly as possible.

“Why are we arguing about this? Is this our first argument? Wait, don't leave yet. You'll miss the most enjoyable part of disagreeing—the reconciliation.” Leonardo smiled suggestively, reaching out for him, but Girolamo stepped away.

“I cannot have this discussion with you right now.”

“Wait, Girolamo, how did we even begin this? What did I say that made you overreact?”

“You said that you would provide the means to go on the offensive against anyone you consider enemies of Florence. Even if that is the hand of God on earth.” Leonardo stood up and reached out to hold Girolamo's arms, his body rigid with barely controlled anger. He stared directly into his eyes.

“Girolamo, no matter where you place your faith, no matter what you believe in church or when you're on your knees, do you truly think, in your heart, that Rome will ever leave alone a power such as Florence? Don't you see that they want to take over, assimilate, force us to their will, just so corrupt officials like Sixtus and Riario can take whatever they want?”

Girolamo knew Leonardo felt his body jerk when he said the names, but he didn't take his eyes from the artista's. He just pulled away and turned, leaving the building without a look behind, his heart aching and his mind whirling.

He hadn't come to any conclusion, didn't even know if there was a resolution to the conflicts in his mind and soul. He had heard before the same arguments Leonardo gave, all from those who sought to disown the church and separate the secular and the faithful. He had grown up with only the church, lived and breathed it, and could not imagine life separate from it. That would be his very definition of hell.

On the other hand, he had lived in Florence for months and seen first-hand that most of the people there were simply...people, not monsters or demons. He had enjoyed parts of it, even looked back on the times with Giuliano with a fondness tempered by the fact they hadn't caroused for some time. And then there was the artista. That threw his mind into more turmoil. He honestly could not classify his emotions there.

All he knew was that his heart leaped into his throat when Leonardo was waiting for him right outside the bank the next day.

“Good day,” Leonardo graced him with a proper greeting for the first time.

“And to you,” he replied.

“Do you have plans to dine tonight?”

“No,” Girolamo said, planning to end the entire interaction right away.

“Then come with me. There are some people I want you to meet.” Leonardo strode off without waiting for confirmation, and Girolamo cursed his own curiosity for wanting to follow. He wondered who Leonardo could be talking about when they approached The Barking Dog.

“In here?”

“Oh, come now, don't forget I've already seen you frequent such low-class establishments,” Leonardo held the door open for him so Girolamo reluctantly entered. It turned out Leonardo's friends were there, the blond boy he affectionately called Nico and the bearded Zoroaster who stared at Girolamo with unabashed loathing.

Girolamo expected the evening to drag on but once food arrived and the wine flowed, he found himself not completely hating the experience. The conversation was lively, the teasing heartfelt, and between Leonardo and Zoroaster, they appeared to know something embarrassing about each person in the tavern. Even Vanessa, the serving girl, gave him a bright smile when she refilled his glass, although she gave Leonardo a kiss for the same favor. They drank and laughed, and Leonardo managed to keep his attention focused solely on them, even as he repeatedly flipped a heavy key over the knuckles of one hand before switching it to the other.

“These are the same people who will be most affected if Rome takes over rule of the republic,” Leonardo whispered to him at one moment when Zoroaster had Nico in a headlock. “Their lives as they know them would end, and they'd be forced to change everything or face severe punishment.”

Girolamo sucked in a breath, reacting as much to Leonardo's warm voice in his ear as to the notion. 

Zoroaster cast a black look at both of them and started telling a story about an adventure he and Leonardo had taken when they were teenagers. Girolamo found he was highly entertained by the man's obvious need for Leonardo's attention and amused himself by sliding a little closer to Leonardo, who didn't seem to mind. When Leonardo slung an arm around the back of his chair, he watched Zoroaster's jealousy flare again, and he nearly laughed out loud. The man was really too much like a lapdog, sniffing around his master and allowing no other pet to approach or he would bare his teeth. Although Girolamo didn't like his own place in that allusion, he leaned close into Leonardo's neck to murmur something about the wine and listened to Zoroaster curse.

Leonardo didn't catch on to the game, but he did seem to enjoy the extra attention so he assumed Girolamo was going home with him. Zoroaster growled into his cup, Nico smiled blearily, and Girolamo didn't even try to resist.

“Just lie back and feel for once. Stop thinking,” Leonardo commanded as soon as he had Girolamo lying naked on his bed.

“I believe I could tell you much the same thing. What design are you envisioning right now?”

“Only the vision that lies before me,” Leonardo grinned, the expression that wrinkled his nose and made him look like a young boy trying to get away with petty theft. He knew exactly how disarming that grin could be. Girolamo stopped his own smile but couldn't help the quirk of his lips. Leonardo's fingers stroked them gently.

“You do that when you're thinking and you're unsure whether you're allowed to say whatever you have in mind. I want to know what you're holding back.” Leonardo followed his fingers with his lips and kept on kissing him until Girolamo didn't know when the worries finally stopped because every thought was filled with Leonardo.

As they lay together after, Leonardo stroked Girolamo's face, fingers gently flexing and learning the feel of it as he talked about wanting to officially sketch Girolamo.

“I would know you,” Leonardo said.

“You believe that we could become better acquainted even after tonight?”

Leonardo rolled to lean up on his elbow over Girolamo, but he didn't touch him this time. “There are some things that are readily apparent about you.” He waited for Girolamo to roll his eyes a little before going on in a faux-serious lecturing tone.

“I know that you prefer fine wines and luxurious foods, not the swill of The Barking Dog.” He allowed Girolamo a quiet chuckle before he placed his hand on the center of Girolamo's chest. “I know you think Master de Medici is a spoiled brat incapable of finding his pompous ass with both hands, but still you humor him. And it's not just because he is your superior at the bank.”

Girolamo shrugged but didn't move enough to dislodge the pleasant pressure of Leonardo's hand across his chest. He went on, “And I know that there are layers to you that you are unable or unwilling to show even to yourself. There is much more to you than meets the eye, Girolamo, but I think I'm close to discovering your biggest secret.” Girolamo tried not to tense as Leonardo whispered in his ear, “You've never been with a man until me.”

Girolamo shivered in relief as much as from the warm breath that began to stir his body again. “It was that obvious?” He rose to the challenge, rolling over and pinning Leonardo to the bed with a deft move, but Leonardo just grinned his smug smile.

“It just means I get to instruct you carefully, and I find that I quite like being a maestro.”

“Perhaps it is time for me to demonstrate what I have learned from your teachings,” Riario licked up his throat and bit him right below the ear, luxuriating in the groan it produced.

“The first lesson I have been forced to master is that one must concentrate fully on one's partner, in the moment, to stop thinking,” he parroted back Leonardo's words from earlier in the evening, making him chuff out a laugh. 

“That sounds like a lesson that I've had quite a difficult time getting through the obstinate head of my pupil.”

“What rich irony, coming from a man whose single-minded focus only rears its head when we are fucking.”

Leonardo laughed louder until Girolamo ran his hands up Leonardo's sides slowly, curving his thumbs to brush over his nipples, once, twice, then followed to suckle until they peaked tightly. Girolamo continued his hands down to entwine in Leonardo's and pull them gently up so Leonardo's arms were raised above his own head, then curled Leonardo's hands around the headboard.

“Keep them there. I want you to lie back and feel everything,” he murmured then delighted in biting his way back down Leonardo's body as the artista flexed and arched against his mouth but did not move to touch him in return.

When Girolamo settled back on Leonardo's thighs, stroking over the strong muscles bunched there in anticipation, he leaned forward, letting his entire torso rest on Leonardo's, all the bare skin touching as he spoke into his ear. “Sometime, I want to tie you up, immobilize your hands and your legs. Make you concentrate only on this.” He reached between them to slowly stroke Leonardo's hard cock. “Make you feel only what I give you. And you will take, take it all until I decide you've had enough. Only then will I let you come.”

Leonardo shook at the command in his gravelly voice, and Girolamo moved swiftly then to swallow him down, trying to copy the tricks Leonardo had used on him. Leonardo bit out half-hearted curses, but when Girolamo suckled his own finger then worked it gently into Leonardo, finding his prostrate more by luck than skill and massaging carefully, Leonardo came with a shout.

After he caught his breath, he was all to happy to have Girolamo sit on his thighs again as he used his hand to bring him to completion.

“Stay,” Leonardo whispered into his hair as they tangled together afterward.

“Not now,” Girolamo said, but Leonardo held him tighter for a moment and sighed. “There is something troubling your mind, Artista?”

“There is something peculiar happening around me, and I'm not sure I can believe what I am seeing with my own eyes,” Leonardo said after a long moment. “There are certain distractions here, beyond the plans I am developing for Lorenzo. Do you remember when I mentioned something called the Book of Leaves? I have been researching into its mystery and investigating related matters, and all I find are more questions and more confusion.”

“Do you believe this book is important?” Girolamo asked quietly even as his heart lurched.

“I do. And I believe there is more to the mystery that I have yet to uncover. Who knows how immense this conspiracy could be.” Leonardo leaned over the edge of the bed, rummaging through his trouser pocket to find the key. He strung it on a leather cord and lay back down, held it dangling over them, something about it making Girolamo want to shudder. “There must be a solution to every problem, no matter how impossible it seems.”

“If anyone can find an impossible solution to a difficulty, it is you. Even if you cannot solve it, you will indubitably find a way to blow it up.”

“Sometimes that works just as well,” Leonardo smiled and clutched the key in his fist, turning his head to kiss Girolamo softly.

“I must go,” he murmured, carefully not touching the key as he sat up then leaned back in to kiss Leonardo goodbye.

Although he could never claim to be an artist, he wished he could capture the image of Leonardo he beheld as he left—the beautiful body sprawled on the ruined sheets of the bed, the look on his face of some emotion Girolamo couldn't put a name to. Girolamo smiled at him and left.

The next day, the whispers were flying and tongues wagging even before Lorenzo swept into the bank looking as enraged as Girolamo had ever seen him. It was only moments before the news and the terror hit Girolamo.

Pietro Riario was coming to Florence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter contains violence and mentions of blood.
> 
> Thank you [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) for putting up with me and reading all of this! You're brilliant!

Pietro Riario did not give Florence much warning of his appearance as he was due to arrive two days after his messenger. Girolamo noted that the Medici spies in Rome must not be very effective because there was no advance notice until Riario himself sent a messenger.

Giuliano haunted the bank that day until Girolamo was free, then took him out so he could complain about Lorenzo appointing him in charge of entertaining the emissary of Rome while he was in Florence. Although it made him feel guilty, Girolamo couldn't help a true laugh at the reaction his brother would have to Giuliano and his heavy-handed ideas of entertainment. If nothing else, it took Girolamo's mind off the impending danger.

The next evening, he was going to spend time gathering his thoughts and the intelligence he might give to Pietro, argue with himself about what information was important versus exploitative, and to sort his mind in order to figure out his feelings about Florence, all while wondering if his Holy Father would allow him to return home to Rome.

Those plans were thrown aside when he saw a prominently placed sign of graffiti, one bearing the mark Rome's spies employed, and he cautiously made his way to where the messages were hidden. There was one parchment, marked with his name, ordering him to go to Pietro's encampment immediately after sunset. His honored brother awaited.

His stomach clenched and his hand shook as he crushed the missive. Although he'd hoped to postpone the experience, perhaps it was better to take the bull by the horns and confront his brother. He wanted to know more about Rome's plans for Florence's future, and he definitely wanted to learn more about the Book of Leaves and what Riario had planned for Leonardo. 

Pietro Riario sat like a king enthroned on a chair beside the fire, wine in one hand, dagger in the other. Girolamo wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but his brother didn't even invite him to sit, kept him waiting in front of him, like a guard standing at attention.

“Girolamo, it looks like the air of Florence is agreeing with you. How are you enjoying the debauchery this den of evil provides?”

“Pietro... Count Riario,” he corrected himself hastily, “what brings you to Florence?”

“You should have already received our message regarding our interest in the artist Leonardo da Vinci. I have come to ascertain how best to recruit him and whether any of these projects of his could be of advantage to his holiness' plans. I am also called to announce the appointment of the new archbishop of Pisa, our cousin, Francesco Salviati. I am quite sure that will get quite a reaction from Lorenzo and his advisers.”

Girolamo noticed that at no time did Pietro refer to his work or compliment his success. “And what have you called me here for now, when my exposure could endanger my work on your behalf?”

Pietro leaned forward. “I want to know more about the artista so I can decide the best way to influence him. Although his holiness has given me some leeway, I would rather not offer him access to such treasures as the Vatican's Secret Archives when he might very well be bought with a far lesser gift. How well do you know this man? What are his weaknesses?”

“I am not sure that he has many,” Girolamo blurted out before he even gave it a thought.

“Every man has something to expose and then exploit. It's only a matter of finding what is of value to him—then either giving it in ample supply or, conversely, taking it all away, whichever will give you the more dramatic result.” Pietro used one of his favorite tricks of intimidation, picking up an apple and starting to peel and core it. Girolamo realized he'd so often done the same thing, and the unintentional similarity to the man before him made him sick.

“I don't believe the artista is interested in anything you might have to offer,” Girolamo lied, and Pietro cocked an eyebrow at him. “His relationship with the Medicis is not the best, but he continues to work hard to impress them and earn his stipend.”

“What about his family? A wife? A lover? Children?”

“He is estranged from all his family and has no loved ones, so far as I can see.”

“An artist with no lovers? I cannot even imagine.” Pietro peeled a moment in silence and ate a slice of apple. “How exactly did you say you met this da Vinci?”

“Giuliano Medici took me with him to meet the artist who made the Easter Columbina.”

“And you struck up a friendship? You? The restrained, conservative Girolamo just befriended a libertine artist and somehow made him share all his secret war plans?”

Girolamo resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as his brother's dark eyes bored into his own. With another sick feeling, he wondered if he'd ever looked that sinister to those he was threatening. He cleared his throat and said, “Leonardo is more than happy to speak about his remarkable designs, to almost anyone who is willing to listen.”

“Leonardo, eh?” Pietro stuck the dagger point first into the table next to him, blade quivering from the force. “It seems you have gained a rather close acquaintance to refer to him so familiarly. Perhaps you have taken a page from our cousin's book and decided to spread your legs to gain information.”

Girolamo didn't move, but Pietro saw something in his expression that gave him away. He whooped a laugh that startled several of the guards settling into the camp behind him.

“You seduced him?! Oh, that is too rich!”

“Brother, I—”

“No, you don't have to explain yourself. I never knew you preferred cock to cunt.” He stared at his half-brother, and Girolamo did not look away. “Since you are fucking him or being fucked by him—please don't tell me details, it sickens me to even think about it—then you are obviously aware of where his vulnerable points are. You will tell me everything that makes this da Vinci tick and I will ruthlessly exploit it to get him to Rome where he will work only for us.”

“I have nothing to tell you,” Girolamo said, his voice low with repressed anger.

“What did you say?” 

“I have nothing to tell you about the artista,” Girolamo repeated, eyes following Pietro as he got up and stalked closer.

“You have nothing or will say nothing?”

Girolamo shrugged. “Either.” His head whipped to the side from the hard blow Pietro struck, and even as he cradled his aching cheek, he realized his brother had slapped him as he would a woman. Pietro gestured to several of the guards who closed in a circle around them.

“Have you become that much of a wanton whore that you will give up your family... your duty as God's chosen for a sodomite? Is his fucking that good that he's made you forget the very God you serve?”

“I have never forgotten my mission here, which was to gain information on how to take over the Medici bank or ruin it so that Rome could profit financially. I never agreed to destroying the entire republic and its people, as you would seem to desire.”

“Is that what your little artista told you?” Pietro grabbed the back of Girolamo's hair and pulled back until he could see his eyes. “Are you turning soft now because you think we are going to declare war on Florence?”

“Are you not? Why else would you assassinate the duke of Milan and make such an overwhelming effort to gain Leonardo's designs for war machines? Or do all these machinations have something to do with the key to the Book of Leaves?”

Girolamo grit his teeth as the hand pulling his hair jerked hard. “What do you know about the Book of Leaves? Has he found a clue? Has he talked to you about a key?”

Girolamo shrugged. “He hasn't mentioned it, but then, we have been busy with other affairs.”

He expected the slap that followed, making his ears ring. Pietro released his hair and stepped back, eyeing him with nothing but contempt.

“I cannot believe you have succumbed to such lewd temptation, but then you always were the weaker vessel. It seems I shall have to beat the devil out of you, remove the sin the same way our father has always done for us.”

Girolamo didn't even try to protect himself when Pietro punched him in the jaw then in the abdomen until he doubled over, then pushed him into the waiting arms of the guards behind who prevented him from reeling backward. 

Pietro removed his coat, pulled his leather gloves tight and taut over his hands, and said, “Perhaps I shouldn't touch your pretty face. Is that what attracted your artista to you?” He punched him in the eye, Girolamo's vision immediately going black on the left side.

“Or was it your body? Unless all your banking work has made you soft.” Pietro let loose a flurry of blows to Girolamo's abdomen and ribs. “Does your artista paint with bright colors? Will he still enjoy your body if you are bloodied and bruised?” 

He hit him again and again in the face until Girolamo wasn't sure if he blacked out. He just hung bleeding in the arms of the guards until Pietro decided he'd had enough. He pulled Girolamo's hair again to pull his head up, the pain lost in the agony that seared his entire body.

“Does he know where to find the Book of Leaves? Tell me what Da Vinci wants or, so help me, I will kill you here and now and give him your corpse as a welcome gift to Rome.”

Girolamo spit the blood filling his mouth into his brother's face. Pietro just pulled his hair harder. “Leonardo seeks a key and the Book of Leaves,” Girolamo gasped out. “He seeks a way to keep a free-thinking home in Italy, free from tyrants who bully and destroy others' lives on a whim.”

Pietro let go of his hair and backhanded him one more time. “Drop him. He's probably well at home on his knees by now.” The guards let him go with coarse laughter as Pietro turned to replace his coat.

Girolamo figured _what the hell_ , he'd never stood up to his brother, he'd always accepted his punishments as due. He gathered his strength and tackled Pietro from behind, pummeling him as they fell. Even with the element of surprise, Girolamo's strength was failing, but he got in a number of good blows, striking hard and fast, his history of learning to fight in the streets coming to his aid as Pietro could only try to protect his face and block some of the hits. 

At full health and without the guards reaching in, Girolamo would have been more than a match for his brother. But the pain was quickly sapping his energy, and after several more vicious blows to his chest, the guards hauled him off Pietro. His hand was still fisted in Pietro's shirt and when they lifted him away, the shirt tore open, exposing a heavy crucifix entwined with a key that was instantly recognizable to Giroamo. It looked like it matched Leonardo's. He reached toward it, but a guard manhandled his arm behind his back.

Pietro was struggling to his feet, hand wiping blood from his lips, murder in his eyes.

“I will end you right now,” he snarled.

“Not if you want to risk our father's wrath. It was on his orders I entered the Medici bank, and I have given him important information. You cannot kill me until my job is done.”

“It sounds like you have already quit our employ and taken on a new master. I will simply tell him you have turned traitor and I disposed of you.”

“And how will you manage to bring about the collapse of the bank without me inside? I'm also the one who has given you the most valuable information about Florence in the form of Leonardo da Vinci.”

“Will you deliver da Vinci to me?

“I won't have to. You can take care of it yourself,” Riario lied. “Offer him money, offer him a chance to get back at those in Florence who have abandoned and belittled him. He is having trouble with the design of his new musket. The Medici don't trust him with any more florins. If you offer him more and a chance to build his machines, he will jump at the chance.”

“If you are lying to me...” Pietro stared into his eyes, but Girolamo knew he would believe the worst about an artist and sodomite, immediately accept that he could be bribed with money. “And what do _you_ want?”

“I want to go home.”

“Because da Vinci will soon be there in Rome?”

“Because I have seen what becomes of a territory when you rule over it, and I want to escape the bloodshed.”

Pietro sneered at him but didn't strike out. “Why did you defy me when I demanded more information about da Vinci? Why did you make me punish you?"

“I told you nothing but truth. I don't have a key to control him, and he has shared some knowledge with me, but not his heart. He doesn't care about what happens to me, and I have no idea what he values besides the freedom to do whatever he wants.” 

“And the Book of Leaves?”

“He has talked about a key, but I do not know where he keeps it, if he indeed has it. We aren't that close; it is only fucking.”

Pietro's face twisted in disgust. “And you haven't told him about your true motives regarding Florence and Rome.”

Girolamo shook his head. “We don't discuss politics.”

“Of course not. But how will he react when he finds his fuck toy has been working to steal his designs behind his back?”

“He will not care because it's only business for both us, particularly if he is by then working for you. I have obtained important information you desired and he obtained what he desired at the moment.”

Pietro stepped back, but Girolamo didn't dare to take a deep breath, not only because of the pain.

“You expect me to believe that if I let you go, you will say nothing to da Vinci, but let me bribe him to come work for us in Rome while you carry on here like a good little boy at the bank.”

“I will do my duty,” Girolamo said stiffly.

“Or I could tell the Medici about you, let them hang you for being a traitor.”

“And deprive yourself the satisfaction of killing me?” He gave his brother a smile full of bloody teeth.

Pietro got in his face once more. “Our father will take the honor himself, if you are lying to me.” Pietro gave him a brutal knee to the groin, and the guards let him crumple to the ground in agony. “Get him on his horse and deliver him back to Florence.”

The pain was almost unbearable as Girolamo rode back into the city. Without any thought on his part, he found himself in the artists' quarter, standing outside Leonardo's studio, wondering if he'd blacked out. The borrowed horse had gone, and Girolamo stumbled inside, not bothering to knock.

Leonardo was sound asleep sitting at a work table, head and chest pillowed on piles of paper. He sat up with a jerk when Girolamo pushed the door shut behind him. “What's going on?” Leonardo slurred.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Artista, but I seem to have run into some trouble.” Leonardo moved toward him, and Girolamo coughed at the smell surrounding him.

Leonardo waved his hands in a vague attempt to air himself. “It's only opium. I smoke when I cannot sleep or when I have violent nightmares.”

“Too much on your mind?” Girolamo collapsed into his arms as Leonardo caught him and delivered him safely to a chair.

“What happened to you? Who did this to you?” He smoothed aside Girolamo's hair from his eyes and cupped his bloody cheek gently.

“I was robbed.”

Leonardo shook his head. “Here? In Florence? With the Officers of the Night roaming about, looking for any signs of curfew breakers?”

“Must have been brigands from outside the city,” Girolamo replied.

“Girolamo, why won't you tell me— never mind, let me get some supplies.” Girolamo slumped over the table until Leonardo found a basin of water and clean linen to serve as bandages. He felt badly about bleeding on the papers scattered across the table. Looking through bleary eyes, he realized many of the pages were crumpled or crossed out and scribbled over, apparently the product of a tormented mind.

“You are tortured by your own brilliance,” Girolamo whispered as Leonardo tended to a cut above his eye. 

“Are you feverish? Perhaps you have suffered a blow to the head?” Leonardo felt his cheeks, but Girolamo pulled away.

“You are alone and despondent because the rest of the world cannot keep up with you.”

“I don't know about that, you give me a pretty good run in bed,” Leonardo gave him a friendly leer. Girolamo shook his head, and Leonardo said, “You have a keen mind, your problem is that your imagination has been tempered by a lifetime of obedience.”

Girolamo's mind wandered in a fugue of pain until Leonardo spoke again.

“I don't think it will leave much of a scar,” he paused, stroking the ridge above his eye, and Girolamo knew he was thinking about the scars on Girolamo's back and wondering, always wondering. He said slowly, “Are you sure you don't know who did this to you? Or why?”

Girolamo closed his eyes and leaned into the hand now cradling his aching jaw. “No, I don't know the man who did this to me.” And he meant it.

Leonardo leaned down and kissed him, not trying to avoid the cuts on his lips but acting gentler than usual. “Let's get you fixed up.”

He tended to Girolamo's wounds, winced in sympathy at the wide swaths of bruises already forming across his ribs and belly, gave him a clean shirt and escorted him to bed. When he would have tucked Girolamo in and gone back to his worktable, Girolamo reached out his hand and stopped him.

“Stay?”

Leonardo nodded and lay down beside him, eventually rolling over until the two were close, but not touching.

“Will you ever let me in?” Leonardo whispered, breath ruffling the hair against Girolamo's closed eyelids.

“I'm not sure myself anymore what lies behind that door,” he whispered back. He felt Leonardo's lips again and then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. Thank you very much to everyone still reading this!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to [chocksawaychaps](http://chocksawaychaps.tumblr.com) for putting up with me through all of this! You are wonderful; thank you for all your time and hard work!

When Girolamo awoke, the pale light of sunrise was leaking through the shutters, and Leonardo was nowhere to be found. He winced as soon as he tried to move—his entire body was stiff and aching. He managed to roll over, preparing to sit up, when he heard a paper crinkle.

There on the pillow where Leonardo had lain was a page out of one of his notebooks filled with a sketch of Girolamo. He was almost ashamed to look, fearing that Leonardo has used his over-active imagination and memory to draw a debauched scene. But instead, Leonardo captured something—the something that Girolamo thought was gone forever. The portrait showed Girolamo as he lay sleeping, without the blood and bruises, and it made him look … tender was the nearest word he could come up with. It made him feel something that he didn't want to and he tamped it down as quickly as it raised its ugly head.

He made it to his lodgings and cleaned up before deciding to attempt the walk to work. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts that day. Becchi questioned him about his injuries, but he was not as suspicious as Leonardo, and believed a story about a mugging on a dark street and a fight when Girolamo refused to relinquish his money.

It was later in the afternoon when Captain Dragonetti and Giuliano rushed in looking for Lorenzo. Giuliano seemed taken aback by Girolamo's swollen, bruised face, but after a quick “Are you all right?” he left again with his brother and guards in tow. They didn't return by the time the bank was closed, so Girolamo slowly made his way back to his own bed.

He was awakened by the sound of his door opening and closing. He slid his hand under his pillow to find his dagger then bit off a curse when he tried and failed to open his swollen eye. He tried to keep his breathing regulated, but he couldn't see who was in the room and he would soon lose any element of surprise. He gathered himself to strike when a hand came down over his mouth and another grabbed the wrist under the pillow.

“Don't move. It is I,” Leonardo growled above him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as soon as Leonardo moved his hand.

“It has been a remarkably trying day, and I have need of a place where I can sit and think without being assaulted or kidnapped.”

Girolamo wanted to ask but he merely motioned Leonardo to sit where he wanted. Leonardo sank onto the bed with a sigh. “Do you have any wine?”

“There is a bottle in the cupboard.”

Leonardo lit several candles and went about finding the wine, not bothering with cups, while Girolamo propped himself up in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position where he could draw a deep breath without extreme pain. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Hearing Leonardo tell the story of the day was like some kind of fantastical tale. Nico had been kidnapped by members of the Vatican guard and taken to Riario's camp. Although Nico had told them under torture that Leonardo had the key, he then led Riario and his men back to Leonardo's studio where he let them explode the rigged box, killing two of the guards.

“But not Riario?” Girolamo asked, heart in his throat.

“No, the two papal guards who were using their swords to chop the box open. Can you believe the courage Nico showed to lure them in and save himself?”

Girolamo shook his head. Leonardo went on to explain that the Medicis had come with Dragonetti to investigate and he'd lied, telling them that Riario wanted his designs for the musket and war machines. Lorenzo had ordered him to remain in the wreck of the studio for his own safety and work on his plans to perfect the musket's remaining design flaws, then left guards to watch and protect him.

From there, Leonardo told the tale of sneaking off to the tavern and his discovery that the key was, in fact, one of a pair cleverly made to work together. Girolamo bit his lip and tasted the fresh blood on his tongue. Then Leonardo described his discovery of the blind man whose testimony led him to the bookstore where he found the book which he had to toss to Zo for safety after the Vatican's guards attacked the trio. He was almost out of breath as he talked about the sword fight then his flight across Florence where he found refuge high on the face of the Duomo.

Girolamo shook his head again. “You have an unbelievable talent for finding the most unfortunate misadventures.”

Leonardo grinned but it was a weary version of his usual cocky expression. “It's been a rather full day, yes.”

“It also sounds like you've made a very dangerous enemy,” Girolamo said slowly.

“You mean the pope's guard dog, Riario?”

“He's not a man to be trifled with. There are stories about him and his propensity for violence. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Just...take care,” was all he could bring himself to say.

“I have heard he is a monster. Anyone who would torture Nico could be nothing less.” Girolamo was surprised when Leonardo touched the back of his hand, running his finger in a circle along the skin and bones. “He carved a hole into Nico's hand, right here, to make him talk. It looks ghastly. I'm afraid it is going to leave a scar.” He squeezed Girolamo's hand and looked him in the eyes. “He seems to be the type of man who enjoys leaving scars.”

Girolamo tried to pull away before he could help himself. “Leonardo—”

“Just don't say anything now that you are going to regret later.”

“I am already full of regrets,” he murmured, and Leonardo leaned in to kiss him, ignoring his injuries as he licked into his mouth with force and pulled him closer, jostling his sore ribs and making him hiss in pain.

“Girolamo, do you happen to read any Hebrew?”

Girolamo should have been used to the whiplash tone of conversations with the artista, but it took a moment for his mind to catch up from where Leonardo had started to kiss down his neck. “I do, actually, read a little, from Biblical texts.”

Leonardo jumped up and retrieved a large book, the one he'd found in the book shop and claimed belonged to the man who had been hanged. Girolamo flipped through it, brow wrinkling as he recognized some of the characters, enough to understand. “This appears to be a treatise talking about the universe and astronomy.” 

“But nothing about the Book of Leaves?”

Girolamo hated to crush his eagerness, but he shook his head. “I'm sorry I cannot translate it all, but I do not see anything referring to that.”

Leonardo sighed and took the book back. “I must go to Andrea. He knows Hebrew and will be able to hide me for a day or so.”

“Or you can stay here?”

“I don't think that will be wise. If anyone knows about our acquaintance, the Vatican thugs may turn up here, and I will not risk you as well.” Leonardo started to gather his things and blew out all the candles except the one beside the bed before he went to the door.

“Artista...”

“Yes?”

“Just take care. There are forces at work here that even you may have difficulty standing against.”

Leonardo's grin was almost back to full power. “In that case, I'll have to find another equal but opposite force of my own.”

And he left. Girolamo dragged himself to the bank the next morning but Giuliano intercepted him at once. Lorenzo had put him in charge of a feast the next evening to entertain Riario, and he was both angry and amused, full of plans to spite the Vatican's second in command.

The party later became one of Girolamo's most unforgettable memories. It was almost worth the beating he had taken just to see Pietro's face when Lorenzo called him a serpent in front of the room of nobles. The entire scene Giuliano had arranged was a perfect example of the extravagance, the overt sexuality, and the beauty that Florence boasted. Instead of seeing it for the excessive temptation he would have before, now Girolamo could also appreciate the humor of the entire situation.

That was improved only by the artista at his shoulder. Leonardo had approached him immediately after exchanging a few words with Lucrezia, and scribbled notes and tiny pictures—profiles, designs, portrait sketches—as he talked with Girolamo. After Lorenzo officially introduced Riario standing nearby, he felt Leonardo stare and stiffen. When the rest of the room started toward the feast tables, Leonardo held Girolamo back for a moment.

“Lord Riario has quite the fat lip. It looks like a recent injury to match his black eye.”

“Perhaps he walked into a door,” Girolamo said wryly. 

“There is something about his eyes, though.”

“It is said he greatly resembles his uncle.”

Leonardo hummed and they followed the crowd to dinner. Girolamo lost sight of him sometime after the feast broke up into small groups for more drinking. When he looked around and realized Pietro and the Medicis were gone as well, he nearly panicked. He made his way to the central hall, having an idea to make his way upstairs towards Lorenzo's study where the men might be meeting.

Instead, he saw Leonardo standing on the landing of the stairs, staring off into space and drawing as hurriedly as ever in his book. Pietro was climbing the stairs toward his vulnerable back, and Girolamo clutched the hilt of his dagger. Leonardo took out his key from where it hung around his neck, and Pietro made his move.

Girolamo listened from the shadows as he first praised and complimented da Vinci, hoping to appeal to his ego, then moved right to the bribery. Leonardo was, as ever, on top form and his verbal sparring was as agile and effective as his ambidextrous sword wielding. Girolamo was impressed as he could see Pietro getting more and more frustrated as he demanded Leonardo give up both the key and his designs.

That's when his brother turned to thinly veiled threats. “If you do not value your own life, perhaps you value the life of another. I can find the one you desire and exploit that. There are myriad ways I can inflict suffering,” Pietro said.

Leonardo sighed and Girolamo pulled back further into the shadows. He couldn't believe his ears when Leonardo agreed to meet Pietro early the next morning at the quarry, and he held his breath when the Medicis came into view behind a curtain across the great hall from him. He knew they had heard the end of the conversation, but they did not reveal themselves either.

He waited until Pietro stalked back the way he had come and the Medicis returned to the feast before he approached Leonardo.

“That scene was not as entertaining as the one earlier,” he said in a low voice.

Leonardo barked out a laugh and turned to him. “It was meant to be educational, enlightening even, but it was not without its entertainment value.”

“I failed to see that.”

Leonardo reached for him, and Girolamo stepped into his arms, not caring they were in public surrounded by enemies in nearly every way. Leonardo ran his hands over his waist to his hips and pulled him closer. Girolamo grasped his shoulder and the back of his neck as Leonardo pressed their lips together.

“Lord Riario is not truly the legendary serpent of Eden, you know. He has nothing to offer that will tempt me,” Leonardo said against his lips. “Now, if you were offering an alliance, perhaps I would have taken that fatal bite of forbidden fruit. Oh wait, that was your mistake,” he teased.

Girolamo shut him up with a kiss until Leonardo pulled back. “If you were in trouble, would you tell me?” Leonardo asked him, hands running up to his ribs and pressing until Girolamo winced.

“If I were in trouble, there would be no point because you could not offer assistance.”

“I would though. You've said I always manage to find a solution, even if it does involve an unexpected and perhaps completely unnecessary explosion.”

“What are you going to do?” Girolamo asked in his most serious tone. Leonardo wouldn't look him in the eye, and Girolamo felt his blood go cold. “Artista,” he said, even as Leonardo stepped away from their embrace, “come home with me tonight.”

Leonardo had turned to face the upper stairs and wouldn't look at him. “I cannot. I have matters to see to.”

“Leonardo, what do you have planned?”

“Your voice is shaking,” he said in amazement, finally turning to Girolamo. “Is it fear? For me or of me?”

“If I am afraid, it is only for your welfare,” Girolamo clenched his fists at his side to keep himself from reaching out again. “There are reasons why Riario has the reputation he does. You may think you are winning the game when in actuality, he is planning another move that you will never see coming. Do not meet him tomorrow. Do not give in to his demands. We will figure something out. We—”

Leonardo grabbed the back of his neck roughly and pulled their heads together until their foreheads touched. Girolamo closed his eyes and breathed in the essence of the man he had come to know so well.

“I will return to you tomorrow.”

“Leonardo—”

“I will return and we will have a very long talk.”

Girolamo could barely swallow from the tension in his body, couldn't speak so he nodded, his head bumping Leonardo's, who simply dropped a kiss onto his forehead and turned, walking away without a glance behind.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Girolamo went home and started praying—for a miracle, for peace, for hope—for what he wasn't sure, but the fears flowed out of his heart and through his lips in his prayers. One way or the other, he feared his future would be decided on the morrow, and if he wanted to take some measure of control over it, he had better prepare himself.

He had spent his entire life living under the strict law of the monastery only to replace it with the even harsher rules of his father. He lived, he breathed, he _existed_ for a higher calling that he felt only when he was obeying his father's orders and pleasing him.

Living in Florence had given him a taste of freedom he'd never experienced before, but he hadn't enjoyed it fully because the shame and guilt from his past never left him. But, almost against his will, he had made friends, he had fulfilling work, and God help him, he had some kind of relationship with the artista.

Perhaps most importantly, he'd seen what his holy father, the pope, surely did not want anyone to learn—the people of Florence worshipped, conducted themselves as faithful followers, but not to the pope on earth. It was eye-opening to find that Lorenzo and his family were not enemies of God, but were instead rebelling against the man on earth who claimed to be His representative yet employed men like Pietro to torture and kill indiscriminately.

Leonardo was the most difficult part of the equation. Girolamo didn't know if he could or should throw away his faith and his family for something as ephemeral and mercurial as the artista. He debated whether he should ride out to the quarry and do … something. He didn't even know what, but he hated the thought of Leonardo caught in the middle between Pietro and the Medicis.

After a night spent praying and pacing, it was definitely anti-climactic to return to the bank, but he didn't know what else to do. Only a handful of clerks were there, and everyone was gossiping about where the Medicis had ridden off to so urgently that morning. 

When Girolamo heard the commotion from outside that usually heralded the return of important guests, he all but flew to the door. Giuliano had just dismounted and hailed him. He was smiling but the expression told Girolamo nothing until he had grabbed his horse's bridle.

“We put a nail in Rome's coffin today, Girolamo,” Giuliano said loudly.

“Do not announce that here,” Lorenzo dismounted and cuffed his brother in the head. He looked at Girolamo curiously before sweeping into the building, Becchi at his heels.

“What happened exactly?”

“We showed the Roman delegation a taste of Florence's might. We are not as toothless as they have assumed!”

Girolamo ground his own teeth in frustration. “What about the artista?”

Giuliano blinked. “What about him?”

“Is he alive?”

“Well, certainly, why wouldn't he be?”

It was all Girolamo could do not to strike him in sheer frustration. “I'm taking the rest of the day off.”

“You probably should. You don't look like you're feeling well.”

As he stalked off, he felt Giuliano's stare, but he didn't care anymore. It might not matter for long after what he had to do.

He let himself into the wreckage of Leonardo's workshop, finally finding him sitting at an empty table in his bedroom.

“Leonardo,” Girolamo called out, suddenly relieved that the man really was in one piece.

“Are you here to kill me?”

The voice as much as the words made Girolamo stop in his tracks. “What happened?”

Leonardo sighed. He sat at the table, head in his hand and rubbed his face. He suddenly looked his age, which must be similar to Girolamo's, but without his usual energy, he appeared older. “The musket worked perfectly, all too well. I killed six men today.”

Girolamo sucked in a breath. “Was Riario one of them?”

“No, the bastard was too smart and ducked just in time. I thought he'd sent you here as a last resort.”

“I am not, and have never been, an assassin. It's rather my biggest failing.”

“But you are...”

“I am a bastard son of his holiness and half-brother to Pietro. My true name is Girolamo Riario.”

Leonardo looked up at him, eyes piercing. “And why are you in Florence, Riario?”

“I was sent here to gain as much information as I could about the Medici bank and the state of Florence. Pietro wanted me to find out what information I could to send the bank into chaos to allow Rome to default on its loans so they could get an extended line of credit with conspirators. I was to send any information I could about potential weakness in the republic that Rome could exploit to sow discord because Rome's goal is not only to take over the republic but all the wealth of Florence.”

Leonardo seemed surprised that he had told the truth so readily. “The Medicis could execute you for treason.”

“Yes, they could.”

Leonardo rubbed at his mouth and scrubbed the hand over his face again. “You obviously told them about me.”

Girolamo paused but remembered his vow to himself to tell the complete truth. “Yes. I had to make a report at Easter.”

“And if I were to turn you in, right now, to Lorenzo de Medici, what would you have to say about yourself.”

Girolamo answered without hesitation. “I have learned much about Florence. I have come to see what is so attractive in it and to care about it—you are the perfect representation of it. Wild and passionate, creative and insane, but loving life, art, and knowledge and its pursuit. You are the spirit of Florence and I have seen it all and come to care more than I'd thought.”

“Your brother beat you. Why?”

“Because I didn't give him the information he wanted.”

“About me?”

Girolamo only inclined his head.

“You didn't have the information or you wouldn't give it to him?”

Girolamo didn't answer, suddenly unsure of his own motives. Leonardo pressed on.

“Do you have any mitigating evidence for yourself, any other reason why I shouldn't report you to the Medicis immediately?”

“You must do what you will. No matter what you choose, I want you to know something. My brother has the other key. It hangs around his neck, similar to yours. I don't know anything about it or the Book of Leaves. They never trusted me enough to share that knowledge, but Lupo Mercuri, the keeper of the Secret Archives, Pietro, and my father—they know something. The key must be important or Pietro would never keep it that close.”

“Do you expect this information to impress me enough to save your life?”

Girolamo shook his head. “No, I will not attempt to bribe you as my brother did. I only want you to know the truth.”

Leonardo made a sound of disgust and kicked a chair with his boot. “Sit down. You're making me tired, standing there at attention.”

Girolamo hadn't even realized he'd been standing in the position his father and brother expected until that moment. When he went to ease, his muscles and bruises ached all over again.

“We're two good ones, aren't we? Two opposite sides of a very confused coin. I expect you had a proper Roman upbringing steeped in the traditions of the church while I am the bastard child of the liberal Florence art world.”

“I have come to believe that my father does not speak for the church,” Girolamo said carefully. “His ambitions and sins are all his own, as are my brother's.”

“So what do we do now?” Leonardo leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand.

“I had thought that you would make that decision. Whether to take revenge against me yourself or surrender me to the Medicis.”

“You are not following Riario back to Rome?” Leonardo asked in surprise, but Girolamo only shook his head, unable to say the words. “Are you willing to give up being a spy?”

“There are secrets not my own that I cannot divulge. I will not have anyone else punished because of my actions,” he said, thinking of Lucrezia and her own tenuous position. Leonardo seemed to understand. “I can no longer in good faith deliver information to Rome knowing and fearing how they will use it. I throw myself on the mercy of the ones I have wronged—you and the Medicis.”

Leonardo looked up at him quickly, fingers starting to twitch. “You will allow those you have injured to decide your punishment? And would you say I have born the greatest injury, since you seduced me to steal all manner of my secret designs and give them to the enemy? Heaven only knows what other information you handed over that could come back and damage me.”

Girolamo nodded tightly.

“Therefore, I should be the one to decide the penalty first, before you face what the Medicis might dole out. Then I shall pass my judgment upon you now.”

Girolamo closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

“Since you have admitted your guilt to the charge of theft, I order you to serve me to repay everything you stole.”

Girolamo's eyes flew open and he stared at Leonardo in amazement. He was staring back with some bemusement but also as serious as Girolamo had ever seen him.

“How, exactly, am I to do that?”

“You can start by keeping your secret from the Medicis. You have been a spy long enough to know how to protect your interests. You have sworn off working for Rome; now you will work for _me._ I will expect you to assist me with building and testing my designs and making them fully functional. And it can only benefit me to have an ally with the Medicis when I require more funding. You can exploit your relationship with that oaf Giuliano and keep them out of my workshop at critical times.”

Girolamo almost laughed, but Leonardo wasn't done.

“You can write down everything you ever told Rome about Florence and the bank, and I will find a way to let Lorenzo know without exposing you. Then he can take steps to protect whatever may have been compromised.”

“Is that all?”

Leonardo looked at him sternly. “I believe that I will be an onerous maestro, and I might strap you into an experimental flying machine from time to time for testing. But more than anything, I will demand total and complete loyalty.”

“That is all I can offer,” Girolamo said in a cracked voice he barely recognized as his own.

“Then you will start immediately. Go, fetch me those pomegranates.” 

Girolamo stood and found the bowl of fruit and returned to place it at Leonardo's elbow. Leonardo grabbed his arm immediately. “This can work,” he said, all his natural arrogance and optimism reasserting itself. “It _will_ work. Together we can keep Florence safe from Rome.”

Girolamo let his lips twitch into a sad smile. “Rome and the Riarios will not stop. You've given Pietro a bitter blow to his pride, and he will never forget it. He will do everything in his power to make you rue the day you were born.”

“Let him try. I've got a secret weapon now.” Leonardo stood abruptly and embraced him. “I told you that I can always find a solution to any problem that presents itself.”

“We just have yet to see the explosion from this one,” Girolamo said in a low voice, knowing Leonardo would hear him. “It could still all blow up in our faces.”

“Not if we can help it,” Leonardo said then laughed and pulled him toward the bed. “Now, obey your maesto and come satisfy him. I believe I am getting my second wind for the day.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Leonardo turned, smiling, and kissed him, and Girolamo breathed in a new beginning full of possibilities.

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who read this and especially those who gave it kudos! Thank you! This prompt grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and it was harder for me to cut out what I couldn't write rather than figuring out what to include. There was so much potential for this AU, but thank you for enjoying my take on it. Let's all enjoy Season 3 together and wish for more!


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